


Blood Magic

by Acam



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2020-05-30 16:40:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 32
Words: 98,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19407229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acam/pseuds/Acam
Summary: It was prophesied by the red priestess Kinvara that Haelena, princess of the lost kingdom of Valyria, was the one destined to save the humanity. She was the princess that was promised, the next Azor Ahai.To fulfill her destiny, she must protect the Starks of Winterfell, arriving in Westeros as the bride of the Young Wolf, to bare him children with magical blood in their veins and command, side by side, his army against the undead.However, the bastard boy who shares her ancient bloodline is the one that she wants and, perhaps, if she forgets her duty for a little while, she could find happiness.War, intrigue and magic mingles in this tale of love and destiny.





	1. Of Dreams and Fires

It was a man. Tall and lean, with sad eyes and a downturned mouth. He was leaning in his table, eyes focused in some paperwork. He paused his feather and stretched his legs under him, while reaching for a jug of wine.

He took a small sip and scratched his beard, lost in thoughts.

This was the man, Healena thought. The man I saw in the fire.

She whispered, knowing what she must do.

“Lord Stark?”

He bolted his head upward, searching around the room for the lady whose voice spoke his name.

“Lord Stark, can you hear me?” She tried again, waiting for an answer.

Lord Eddard Stark almost responded the mysterious voice, but stopped right away. He only nodded, afraid of the consequences.

“Lord Stark, I came as a warning. You must listen to me carefully. Do you understand?” She asked, fearing that her knowledge of the common tongue was too rusty.

He nodded.

She sighted in relief.

“My Lord, I must warn thee. The King Robert Baratheon is to come, any day now, to Winterfell. He will ask you to be his hand. You must be careful, Lord Eddard, as the south is the downfall of the north. The Lannisters are dangerous and treacherous. The Vale is doomed. The Reach is full of thorns. If you must, trust the Dornish, whose prince still hates the fate of his sister, Ellia.”

Ned Stark was up, near the window, looking at nothing and attentive to everything.

“If you must be Hand, be careful. Your girls will be in danger, don’t let them be at Kings Landing.They’ll be safe with the vipers. Trust no one and fear everyone. When the time comes, when the dangers are too high, demand the northern independence to the old stag and be gone.”

A silence engulfed the room, surrounding the stones with terrible omens.

“Do you understand, Lord Eddard?”

With a husky voice, he simply said:

“Yes.”

She sighted, a sound that seemed just like the wind rustling the leaves of the weirwood tree.

“Do not fright, my Lord. She is coming.”

And nothing more was said.

——

Haelena woke up engulfing air. She was drenched in sweat, her white shift bracing softly her skin. She took of the covers and, putting her robe, went to the balcony, looking at the Dooms of Valirya. The Fire Rivers still ran through the city, surrounded by smoke and cinder. The skies sparkled with stars and, on the places were the lava had turned into cold stone, green grass, as green as the one of those on the Dothraki Sea, started to grow. A dragon screamed in the night and she felt safe.

“Did you do it?” Asked her sister, Daena, blowing off the candles around the bed.

“Yes, I’m afraid.” Haelena answered, her eyes locked in the landscape, one hand reaching behind, searching for her sisters.

“Do you think you did the right thing?” Continued Daena, her beautiful amethyst eyes searching Haelenas face.

“I suppose. The fire told me what to do.” She explained, turning her back from the pits of fire and entering her chambers. Her sister growled, annoyed.

“Not again, that fire nonsense.”

Haelena took a deep breath.

“It is not nonsense. It is our mother’s faith.” She put it mildly, seating in front of her mirror, watching the girl who shared her blood but was so different from her.

Daena was her older and only sister, with beautiful and clear eyes, a heart shaped head and long blond hair, nearly white. She took their great grandmothers look, Visenya Targaryen. The other sister, however, was dark in her features, with flowing straight dark hair, maroon eyes, large as a doe. She was petite, with fuller lips and hips. She was the spitting image of her great grandfather, a bastard called Daemion, which chose the name Ashaew.

“How can you trust this foreign sorcery when our own blood is pure magic, darling?” Her sister questioned, running her fingers through the long, dark hair.

“We are fire magic, Daena. It’s only right that we learnt to take that knowledge and transform it” she turned to face her sister. “The red priests of Asshai see only glimpses of the future on the fire and we see the truth.” She paused, getting up, searching for some clothes.

“You know that I can see everything. I don’t need to wish that those images show me the truth. They’re a window, clear and bright to the future and they warned me about House Stark.”

Daena look vexed, while Healena took of one beautiful white gown and laid it on the bed.

“Why do you care, sister of mine?”

Haelena paused, her fingers tracing the cheeks of her sisters.

“I saw it, Haelena. Our future is uncertain. It has been centuries since a boy was born in Valirya. We are the younglings, my sweet. You and Viserys have been praying for a babe since our lady mother got with child again. We are doomed, Daena. Our magic is fading.”

The tears stroke the fair sister cheeks, her lips trembling.

“Our grandmother told me, when I was but a girl of fifteen, that magic existed in the Seven Kingdoms. The Kings of Winter of House Stark, whose sigil is a Direwolf, built the Wall that protects the realm of men. And...” she stopped, fearful.

“And?” Daena took the hands of her sister, for support.

“And the Targaryens of Valirya, whose sigil is the dragon with three heads. Our great grandmother was a dragonrider. However, they’re gone now. All dead, save for a girl scarred for life, a crazy man in Essos, a bastard in the North and the so called young griff.”

She paused, searching for words.

“Only magic can form magic. We need this, this new blood in our line. Lady Grandmother had warned me of my duty. I must lay with ice to continue our dynasty.”

“What about the Targaryens boys? I understand that you don’t want the crazy one... but still...” Said Daena, holding her sister in embrace.

“The young griff is not but a rumor, with no lands and no title. The bastard, although living with a great family, has no name nor honor nor lands. He will take the black and protect the living. I saw in the fire.” Said Haelena, her muffled voice in her sister’s neck.

“You are hurt, my sweet.” The fair lady whispered in pain.

“He’s handsome and just. A great warrior and the greatest of the hearts. We cannot, I should not. My fate is within Lord Robb’s side. I will bare him beautiful, fiery children that will lead to the longest of the reigns.” Haelena answered, leaving her sisters side.

“Our Lord Father agreed to this?” Daena asked, arranging the beautiful gown in top of the bed.

“He’s been aware, for a long time. Today I took the first step: I warned Lord Eddard about the perils that are to come and that he is supposed to ask for Northern independence. Next, our Lord Father will get in touch with the Maester, offering my hand in marriage to the Stark Heir. Then, I will leave Valirya.” She stopped, fearing the great unknown. She lived 50 years of her life in the Dooms and had never left. Gaining strength, she continued.

“I will arrive in Winterfell and seal our alliance. I will leave then, to Dorne, with the Stark Sisters until the time is right.”

“Why would they not marry you right on the spot?” Her sister stared at her, furrowed brows over worried eyes.

“Father will tell them that I’m not yet a girl flowered. They will not marry their heir without knowing that his betrothed is able to conceive.” Haelena said, her arms embracing her fragile body. “Everything will be alright, Daena. I have seen in the fire.”

The beautiful blonde sighted and sat in the bed.

“There are things that, although we try, we can’t see in the fire, my darling. The Lord of Light is a treacherous god and he don’t trust the ones with magic in their veins.”

“You are wrong, Daena. I saw everything that I needed. I will be fine.”

Opening her arms to Haelena, she held the small girl next to her heart, smiling, and whispered.

“I will pray to the dragonrider that you are right”

——

“Ned?” Lady Catelyn demanded in a rushed voice. Her Lord Husband was near the window of their solar, looking at nothing. She hold the scroll tightly in her hand, afraid to be the bearer of news. Especially bad ones.

“Yes, Cat, my dear.” Said Lord Eddard, his gaze upon her, as if he had woken up from stupor. 

“We received a raven. From Kings Landing.” She said, approaching her husband.

“Good news?” Lord Eddard asked, leaving towards Cat, his eyes full of worries.

It is as if he knows, thought Cat.

“I’m afraid they are not, my Lord. The Hand of The King, Lord Jon Arryn, is dead.”

Lord Eddard put a strong hand under the chin of his wife.

“Robert is coming to Winterfell.” He said blankly, forcing his words out. She widened her eyes and got closer to him.

“My Lord, how did you knew?”

He sighted and engulfed Cat in his arms.

“I have been warned, Cat, by a voice in this chamber. She warned me that Robert was coming to ask me to be his hand. She said that the south is our downfall, that we must take care of our daughters and no matter what it takes, we must flee and request independence. Before it is too late.”

“She?” Cat asked, her fingers trembling. It has been sixteen years since the Revolt of Robert Baratheon, when men were murdered and great houses had fallen in oblivion.

“It was a lady’s voice, unknown to my ears. She guides and guards us, as she knows that I cannot deny the request of my king. I must go south and be his hand.”

Lady Stark cheeks flushed a bright red as her beautiful auburn hair.

“Oh no, Ned! You mustn’t! Remember what happened to Brandon and Lord Rikard when they arrived in the Crown Lands!” The vivid image of her betrothed burning in wild fire would always remain stained in her mind.

“I will be careful, Cat. Winter is coming, after all, and the lone wolf will die but the pack will survive. This is the moment that I shall remain true to my sigil and protect the North. And true to our vows.”

Lady Stark breath was warm in his skin and he was grateful for such a strong women.

“I trust you, Ned. I will help. What do you want me to do?” She asked, taking a step backwards.

“Write a letter to Lord Doran Martell. Explain that Sansa wishes to visit the water gardens and Arya wants to be a fearful warrior, as the Sand Snakes. Lord Doran is a good man and loves children. He will invite them to stay in Dorne, while I’m gone. Perhaps, we can arrange Sansa’s betrothal to the young prince... We will see. I know that they will be secure with the vipers.”

Lady Catelyn nodded.

“And what about the prince, my Lord? Joffrey is grown and I expect that King Robert and Queen Cersei will want to secure our friendship through marriage. It’s common.”

Ned paused, his hands laid in the wooden surface of his table.

“We will deny her hand now. She is but a maid of ten and four. It’s too soon and King Robert will understand.”

Someone knocked on the door and the head of the Maester appeared. With his long robes and heavy chains, it seemed that he would crumble on the floor.

“My lord, the deserter awaits.” Said the man.

Lord Eddard took his furred cape in his hands.

“Yes. Thank you, Maester Luwin. The boys are ready?”

“Ready and waiting at the courtyard.”

He nodded, gave Cat a little kiss in her forehead and walked towards the door, fearing the future.

——

“Mother, I have a dog now!” Said young Bran, running towards her mother, a young pup in his arms, auburn fur and yellowish eyes.

The boys approached the courtyard, with puppies in their arms. Lord Eddard himself had a huge smile in his face and arrived screaming his daughter’s names. Arya came out of nowhere, dirty and greasy, wide-eyed full of wonder.

Sansa, always a true Lady, arrived with her septa, her hands locked in front of her. Seeing the pups in her father’s arms, Sansa let out a little scream in delight, and fled towards his horse.

“It is ours?” She asked, while grabbing a small grayish cub.

“It is.” Lord Eddard answered while dismounting the stallion. He gave the other pup to Arya, whose words were lost in her throat.

“Every little Stark has one, even Snow!” Said Theon Greyjoy, ward of the North, dismounting beside a shy boy his age, long and curled hair hiding his face. Under his furs, there was a white pup with red eyes.

Lady Catelyn frowned at Theon’s remark. She hated that boy Snow, fruit of the dishonor of her Lord Husband and the constant reminder in her household. It angered her even more the fact that her oldest, Robb, had the same age of the bastard and were good friends.

Robb was climbing the stairs, with two cubs in his arms. He had the Tully hair, as Sansa had, fiery and red and his eyes were deep blue.

“This one is for Rickon.” Said the boy, placing the dark ball of fur in her arms. “And this one is mine: Greywind.” A dark grey pup yawned in Robbs arms.

“What is to be named yours, my girls?” Cat asked, while they climbed towards her.

“Mine is a girl. She shall be named Lady.” Said Sansa, stroking the light grey pelt.

Arya had a little grin, probably thinking in a way to irritate her sister later.

“Mine shall be named Nymeria, as the dragon warrior.”

Cat nodded, hoping that, one day, Arya would leave this nonsense of knights and fights behind, being a true highborn lady.

Theon passed with Bran, who had named his pup Summer. Right behind, Lord Eddard asked the boy Snow the same question. Shyly, he responded, saying that he had named the cub Ghost, as he had white fur and red eyes, a ghoul.

He passed hurriedly by Lady Stark, leaving the couple alone.

“Dogs, Ned? As if we do not have too many.” She said, looking vexed.

“Wolves, Cat. Direwolves pups, as the sigil of my house. It is a sign, My Lady. The children shall be safe.”

The red haired lady was gobsmacked. Since she arrived in the North, nearly twenty years ago, she did not see this mythical creature. They said to her that they were nearly gone south of the Wall. This, indeed, must be a sign, together with the scroll that arrived with that strange creature.

“Listen, Ned. I must show you something.” She said, catching his arm in hers and leading him through the gates. Under de passageway and through the yard, up several stairs, right at the maesters chambers, sat a strange looking fellow, a bird of sorts.

Scaly skin and reptilian eyes, the bird looked straight at them, his winds of thin and leathery skin folded by his sides. He had a strange tongue, as a snake, and smoke rose from his nostrils.

“My Lord.” Said the Maester, gently stroking the creature, while wearing leather gloves. The bird seemed to like the care, as he closed his eyes, gleefully. With the other hand, he handed the scroll that was tight to the reptile legs. It bore a strange sigil, of a red dragon in a white field.

He cracked open the sigil and read the letter.

_Lord Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Lord Paramount and Warden of the North_

_I, King Maekar of the House Zaldriz, the first of my name, King of Valirya and Lord of Dragons, send you this missive to inform of my interest in betrothing my youngest daughter, Princess Haelena Zaldriz, to you heir, Robb Stark._

_She is a bright and intelligent girl, with good manners and gentle soul. I daresay that she has a lovely complexion and is eager to see the world. For that matter, I offer her hand, so she can set sail to new lands and live the life she dreams of._

_My wife, Queen Naerys, and I would be extremely grateful if you are to receive her in your household, bonding her with your girls, as she is not, yet, a flowered maid._

_Jaqen will await in your solar until you attach a response to this missive. It is a fast draganae and will deliver the scroll in my own hands._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Maekar R._

“She is coming.” Said Ned Stark, with alarmed eyes, holding tightly the parchment in his hands.

“I must fetch Robb” said Lady Catelyn, gathering her skirts and running downstairs.

“Yes, Cat. I believe you must.” Said Lord Eddard, meekly, eyeing doubtfully the little dragon.


	2. Of Witches and Propechies

She was seating in the middle of her room, the boxes and trunks filled with dresses, stays, stockings and shoes with a whole trunk of fine linen and furs for her and her future husband to sleep on. She was separating some books, afraid to leave some that she loves but fearing what will happen to them in their new home.

Robb Starks answer arrived on the early hours of the next day, the little Jaqen huffing and puffing, exhausted with the long trip. The words of Lord Eddard were kind and welcomed the little princess in his castle, giving her time to know Robb better, before being formally betrothed. She knew that, if her plan ran smoothly, she would only see the young Stark again after some time.

“Anxious?” Asked a sweet voice. It was her mother, Queen Naerys, her dark hair loose over her nightgown.

She would embark in some hours, in the middle of night, as was the custom of her people. The trip was long and difficult with boats full of cargo. She would take nearly a moon to arrive at her new home, through the Doom Rivers and the Narrow Sea.

Then, there was White Harbour, the great harbor of the North. A week or so inland and she would arrive with all of her belongings to a new house with new faces.

She definitely wasn’t ready for it.

“A little.” Haelena put it mildly, watching as her mother approached her, sitting by her side, her fingers brushing the leather in the books.

“When I was married to your father, I trembled for 2 days straight. I could hardly walk towards the knight who officiated us. And when we laid, side by side, under the moon, I fainted.” The Queen said, eyes full of memories.

“But you loved Father.” Haelena blurted, finally fearing her crazy plan.

Her mother stopped, trying to find the right words.

“I know. And more importantly: you know too. You were full aware of this when you saw the flames. And you embraced your destiny, my sweet child.”

She took her daughters cheeks in her hands and looked at her straight in the eyes.

“It will be difficult, never forget that. We are dragons, our blood is filled with magic. We live as long as trees, as long as rocks. You will see your husband die of old age while still looking like a young thing. You are full aware that only Starks or Targaryens can touch our body without burning inside. It will be difficult to find another husband who could caress you.”

The Queen took the princess hands in hers and hold them tightly.

“It will be a life of solitude and boredom, watching the people and places go by. So, when you see the opportunity to love and be loved, don’t think too much! Just grasp it in your hands and let the consequences for later.”

Haelena gave a faint smile.

“Oh, Mother! I shall miss you!” She cried, the tears flowing through her cheeks.

“And I shall miss you too.” Said the Queen, her voice trembling. “We will come to your wedding, all of us. Your sister tells me she wishes to join your confinement as soon as you are with a babe. Viserys already agreed.”

“Viserys agrees with everything Daena wants. He is a fool.” The princess said, her lips glistening with joy.

“He is in love. I pray to the Lord of Light and the Dragonrider that you shall find love as well.” Murmured Naerys, feeling in her heart how she would miss her youngest daughter.

Visenya Targaryen was one of the wives of Aegon Targaryen, the conqueror. Never the favorite wife, Visenya was a free spirited woman and a great warrior. She dealt with the pain of being the dutiful task of her lord brother and husband by meddling with dark magic and having lovers.

One day, after giving birth to her son Maegor, Visenya flew away from Dragonstone to the old ruins of Valyria. She believed that, to gain her husband heart and trust, she should be more powerful than ever. Visenya launched herself from Vaghar to the fire pits and burned slowly.

Three days later, she pulled herself from the lava river and climbed at Vaghar, naked as her name day, and flew straight to Aegon. That night, they laid together and conceived twins: Aenar and Daenys. However, Aegon did not gave her attention as she expected and she turned back to her lover, a bastard named Daemion. They conceived a child, called Baelon, with dark hair and maroon eyes. Not soon after, she held a girl in her arms: Haelena.

With the years going by, she noticed that she did not felt more pain os sickness. Her children were grown and after several trials, her first-born was king. Retrieving her magical children, she fled Dragonstone, asking to Aegon (the second of his name) widow, Alyssa, to burn the corpse of a peasant and say that it was Visenya’s body.

The years had gone by and in the Dooms of Valyria her children got married and bared babes, forming a small community of nearly two hundred souls. Naerys was born there, a granddaughter of Baelon and Haelena.

With the years of brother marrying sister, the babes had started to die at infancy or not be born at all. Therefore, she was married to Maekar Zaldriz, grandson of Aenar and Daenys, to her joy, as she was in love with the boy with the long silver braid, who would climb to her balcony and share shy kisses all through the night.

They had several children, all happy and healthy, seven boys and one girl. The years passed since her last child, a boy, and Naerys thought that she would not have any more. Then came Haelena, bony and fair, named after her grandmother, who had passed away after venturing outside the city walls.

Haelena was the dearest of sisters, pampered by her brothers. She was the golden child of Maekar, who would cradle her in his arms and sing softly until she was asleep. Even Visenya, nearly 300 years of age, outliving most of her bravest and stupid sons, would take the little princess hands in her calloused ones and smile to her, sending kisses in the air. 

She would miss her brave princess whose fate was announced by a red priestess, named Kinvara, outside of Valyria’s walls. She screamed for 40 days and nights of what should be of the dragons of Valyria and who was the savior of all, the princess that was promised, born amidst salt and smoke, under a red moon. It was Haelena Zaldriz, she screamed, daughter of Naerys Ashaew and Maekar Zaldriz. She would cross the Narrow Sea, lay with wolves, and protect her blood and the realms of man.

Naerys heard that woman scream for all those days, holding her infant child in her arms, worried about the words she spoke. Her children had not bared any sons or daughters and they started to grow restless. After many days, she allowed the sorceress in.

Together with Lady Visenya, she welcomed Kinvara in her home and learnt the fate of her child. She learnt the Lord of Light ways and how to decipher the flames. Lady Visenya taught her daughter of the Targaryen ways and the history of her people.

Now, helping her Haelena get dressed, Naerys was sure she did the right thing.

——

It has been a fortnight since Lord Eddard sent his answer to King Maekar. Robb was anxious to meet his foreign bride, whose name and sigil are unknown, even to the Grand Maester in the Citadel.

Since then, he have been a faithful correspondent with the princess father. The last he had heard, Haelena was meant to ship that same day. The voyage was dangerous, considering that she was traveling with trunks, horses and people that would compose her household. The good king said that in a moon or so she was supposed to arrive in Winterfell.

He postponed as long as he could the princess voyage, so that King Robert couldn’t meet her in Winterfell. He wished to maintain the girl a secret, as long as he could. He was certain that the mysterious lady and her kingdom had something to do with the warning he received in his solar. It was a too great coincidence, the events too near with each other. For that matter, she would remain hidden, at least until Northern Independence and her marriage.

“We will be fine, Father.” Said Robb by his side, his Tully blue eyes glistening. Ned could hardly believe that his young boy of six and ten was already betrothed, with his bride on her way.

The time passed too quickly.

“You talked about the girl with your brothers?” Lord Stark asked, looking at the group of children by Robb’s side, waiting for the Royal Entourage.

“Aye” said the boy, looking in the same direction as his father. “Although I believe it was not necessary. With you and Lady Mother talking about it with the children was enough, I suspect.”

The old men rested a hand over his son’s shoulders.

“It’s not a sin to be careful, Robb.”

“THEY ARE COMING!” Screamed Arya, while running toward the household that was gathered in front of the castle.

Not many minutes later, there they were. The old King Robert, ridding his war stallion, in all garb and furs. Beside him was the man called Kingslayer, Jaime Lannister, of the Kingsguard. The knight shook of his beautiful blond hair while taking of the helmet, handing it to a stable boy nearby.

A bunch of men gathered around the king, helping him get out of the horse. The noble had grown heavier in the years that passed and he had difficulties doing some simple chores.

“YOU OLD GOAT!” Exclaimed the man, walking towards Ned with open arms. They embraced tearfully, as they’ve grown together in the Vale of Arryn.

“It’s nice to see you too, My King.” Ned answered mildly, holding his friend gaze.

“You don’t need to call me like this! I will always be old Rob to you.”

Ned smiled.

“This now is my son, your Grace. Our Robb.” He turned to his son, gleaming with pride.

“Good Gods, Little Robb is not so little anymore!” The King said. “I’m glad that you have the looks of your mother. No one deserves your father’s brow.”

He walked with his friend, attentively watching as Robert greeted his children, his bannermans and the servants. He hugged Cat and spoke softly with her, while a slender blonde woman, with piercing green eyes left her carriage. She had two small children by her side, a boy and a girl and dismounting a white horse next to her was a lad, the same age as Robb’s, with the same gold hair and emerald eyes, wearing a smirk in his face.

“I wish to pay my respects to the dead now, Ned.” The king spoke harshly.

“My love, this is really...” The Queen started to say, only to be shushed by the King.

“Hush, Cersei! Not now.” He screamed, his cheeks pink with anger.

Taking Lord Eddard by the elbow, Robert left his wife in the courtyard, without looking back. Lady Catelyn tried to approach the beautiful Queen, but she left swiftly, followed by her children and her brother. The Lannisters were known to be a very private family, with many secrets and a huge ego. Their sigil was a lion and, sometimes, it appeared as if they were lions themselves, eating and destroying anyone who stands in their way.

By the looks of old King Robert, he was slowly being consumed by the gold haired westerns too. He had dark circles under his eyes, bloated and pale skin, with red marks in his cheeks and neck. He was a little limp and Ned knew why: the pox. It has spread through the groin and down the knees, a nasty thing, yellowish and swollen.

It was strange seeing his old friend, once so tall, slim and broad shouldered, it that state.

“I wish you had buried her in the field, Ned. With sun all day long and blue winter roses by her grave. She would have wanted that.” Said the sickly man.

Lord Eddard sighted, facing his friend, as both stood guarding Lyanna’s statue. He knew that his sister, although impulsive and brave, would want to stay beside her parents and the Stark ancestors.

Robert would never accept that. He rebelled against his King and his prince, the good-hearted man with the tiny braids and easy smile. The same man that kidnaped the strong willed she-wolf that he called his sister and brought shame and destruction to two of the most ancient houses in Westeros. Robert believed Lyanna was a fragile winter rose, who loved the nature and the animals. However, she was a Stark through and through, half wildling herself, destined to be a notorious Stark in those dark crypts.

“Listen, Ned. I need you.” The King said, finally, turning to see the Lord of Winterfell by his side. “Since Jon died... I’m not the same. Is those bloody Lannisters, I tell you. I’m surrounded by them, every day and every night.”

He paused, putting his large hand over his friend’s shoulder.

“I need a friend there, Ned. Someone who I could trust. I’m tired of watching my back every single day. Give this old man a little peace of mind and be my Hand”

Ned knew that this was coming, but not so soon. He suddenly felt lost at words.

“Your Grace, I... I don’t know what to say...”

The King laughed, slapping Lord Eddard shoulder vigorously.

“Say yes, Ned! Is quite simple.” Lord Stark could see the affection through his friend’s eyes and felt warmed with love.

“Aye, Your Grace. I will be your Hand.”

King Robert laughed gleefully, hugging his friend.

“It will be grand!” Said the man, as if he was planning an adventure. “You should come to Kings Landing with us and bring the girls. Your Tully girl, Sansa, will flourish in the warmer weather. She is a pretty thing, you know, and maybe we could arrange a betrothal with our two houses. Like your father once planned.”

Ned knew he had to think quickly.

“Your Grace, it’s too soon. I have to arrange things, prepare the Castle while I’m away. These things take time.” He said.

The huge man wasn’t in any way worried by it.

“In three weeks everything will be settled. I’m sure Cersei can rest one more week in the old North.”

In the old crypts, in front of the old kings and queens of winter, he silently prayed that something, anything really, was to delay his departure.

But the gods work in mysterious ways and not a week later little Bran fell from the old tower and did not wake up, as if in a deep and eternal slumber.

——

She was walking towards the ship, her white furred boots clanking in the wood boards. She was wearing a long and full white brocade dress, with red embroidery. Her gloves were white as well, as was her cotton cape, trimmed with fur. Her hair was up in a series of braids, crowned with a ruby tiara under the lace veil, which covered her face and hair until her elbows.

She was a vision in white, like a snowstorm preparing to come.

“My fair daughter, I bid thee farewell.” Said her father, his long silvery braid over his shoulder. He was in full regal clothes, topped with his gold ringlet over his temples. “I wish thee a safe journey. For now, I will not bid you goodbye. See you soon, for the wedding.”

He took her in his arms and kissed her forehead gently, over her veil.

“Oh papa!” She whispered, eyes full of tears. “I can’t leave you and Mama!”

He laughed tenderly, lifting her lace and looking her in the eyes.

“Your mother and I will be fine. Now, go live your adventure.”

She looked over her shoulder and saw all her family by her side. Her brothers were tearfuly saying their goodbyes and Daena was most unconsolable, crying loudly. Her mother looked very regal by the Kings side, her ruby crown towering over her head. She cried very softly, the tears running down her cheeks in a cascade. She was not capable to say a word and only hugged her youngest daughter tightly.

By her father’s other side stood Lady Visenya, tall and proud. Her silver braid hung almost loose by her knees, with her purple robes spread on the floor. She looked not a day over her sixties.

“Grandmama, I... I will make our house proud.” The princess said, without a breath.

The old lady took her hands and kissed them with her thin lips.

“My child, do not worry about honor. Worry about the good-hearted people that inhabits that land and the peace you’re bring after the long night. Rest, child. That your chapter is already written and nothing will change that.”

Kissing her great grandmother cheeks, she took the hand of Ser Harry Ashaew, her designated knight, and climbed on board for her journey to Winterfell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! This is my first fic and I tried to create a fun and different environment, without loosing the essence of the GOT books.  
> Please, excuse any english mistakes that I commited, as English is not my first language.  
> I will be posting a new chapter every week!


	3. Of feasts and blood

“Oh, Ned… I can’t go.” Said Lady Catelyn, tearfully, holding her son’s hand. He was so tiny is his large bed, eyes closed peacefully.

“You must, Cat. Is our new daughter that arrives today and she must be treated as such.” Said Lord Eddard, sitting by the edge of Bran’s bed, afraid to touch his wife, who has been crazy with grief.

King Robert remained in Winterfell two more weeks, drinking heavily and fucking housemaids. The imp, the Queen’s dwarf brother, known to be a drunkard and a fool, have arrived some days before the royal entourage. He was being problematic, screaming with prince Joffrey, cursing in the high table and living carelessly.

The family spirits were shaken since the accident, being all gloomy and hopeless. Maester Luwin visited the young lord and said that only time could heal the boy and, perhaps, he would never wake up. Sansa cried heavy tears when she heard about the news. Arya vanished in the Wolfswood for three days straight, arriving tired and dirty as one can be. Robb remained by his brother’s side, forgetting, altogether, the joys of being young and in love. Rickon, poor lad, was too young to feel anything, remaining alone in the nursery with the septa.

Jon saw everything as through a veil. Lady Stark was enraged with sadness and could not stand to stay near the bastard at all. Because of that, Jon could hardly see his little brother and only heard news from the maid’s that pitied him. He remained near his uncle Benjen, recently arrived from the Wall, who loved the boy as his own. He had asked his uncle to be part of the Night’s Watch, to escape the grips of Lady Catelyn and the nights outside of the Castle, hearing the noises of drunk man and music, never being able to be a part of it.

“Perhaps for the feast tonight, Ned. I really need to help Bran with his nourishment. I will bathe him too, so that Princess Haelena can meet him properly.” She said, tears in her eyes glistening.

Ned took a deep breath, touched Cat’s face and left, going towards the courtyard, where the entire household was already waiting impatiently for the bride to be. Robb was steaming with happiness, with his best clothes and grey furs, the red hair gleaming in the sun. The girls were ready and, for Arya’s terror, she had to wear a dress for the noble girl arriving.

Ned had received a missive from Lord Manderly, who had welcomed the princess in White Harbour. He had been gobsmacked by the beauty of Lady Zaldriz and the kindness she showed to others. He wrote she was a very talented and cultured girl, knew her letters and spoke five different languages besides High Valyrian. She knew how to sew, to dance, to sing and play the harp. She was a brilliant cyvasse player and liked to tell stories for the soldiers, that were smitten by their future lady.

Lord Eddard was taken back from his thoughts as he heard the trumpet playing in the distance. He felt his son tensed by his side, his anxiousness washing through his pores. Suddenly, by the gates, the royal entourage appeared, with the triton and the red dragon being displayed in the banners. Leading the committee there was a lady in white, mounting a white mare with black socks. The girl used a laced veil over her features and he was unable to see her face. That air of mystery just increased while she came towards the lords and ladies waiting in the courtyard.

She stopped in front of Lord Stark and a dark haired knight, dressed in red and white helped her out of the horse. She landed graciously on the floor, adjusting her vast skirts in front of her. Ned could see Sansa watching attentively, especially the red embroidery in the hem. They will be great friends, Ned prayed.

The princess walked towards the Lord of Winterfell, halting just a few inches before the man. The knight by her side took of the helmet, cleared his throat and announced:

“Welcome Princess Haelena Zaldriz, princess of Valyria and Lady of Dragons.”

He saw the petite girl reaching the veil with her trembling fingers, trying to lift it, with no success. Therefore, Ned took a step forward, approaching her, and asked:

“My Lady, may I lift your veil?”

“Yes, you may, My Lord.” The voice that warned him in his chamber responded, nervous and full of worries.

Lord Stark hold the fin veil in his calloused hands and lifted it, throwing the lace over her head. He was surprised to see those dove eyes, gentle and sweet. She was prettier than he thought, knowing what a gift was the Valyrian princess.

“My Lady, may I present you to my older son, Robb?” the old Lord said, turning to see his son by his side. Robb was blushed, with a huge smile in his face and, if he could, he would hold that poor girl in his arms and never let go.

“Please to meet you, Lord Robb.” The princess said quietly.

“My pleasure, my princess.” He said, taking her small hand in his and kissing it briefly and courteously.

Haelena faces went red with pleasure and a small smile came to her lips. Lord Eddard sighted in relief, seeing as those little doves behave around each other. It would be a nice match, full of happiness and children, he thought.

Next, he presented Sansa, who complimented the princess about her dress and they exchange a few tips about embroidery, promising to talk more about this later. He, then, presented Arya, who asked quickly about dragons and the fire rivers. The young Lady responded with grace, giving vivid details about the heat, the stars, the screams of the dragons in the night and the smoke that rose from the sea. Arya was enchanted and he knew that she and Sansa would fight for the princess attention.

He presented young Rickon in the septa arms, Theon who only nodded his head and briefly kissed her fingers, Maester Luwin who watched her with interest and Ser Rodrik, their master at arms. Lastly, hunched over the shadows, was Jon.

“At last, Jon Snow, my son.”

Haelena and Jon Snow locked eyes, not saying a word. She gave him her hand, waiting for a proper kiss. However, Jon did nothing. They remained staring at each other, eyes locked in confrontation, the bastard defying the rules that reigned his surroundings. Only when she looked to her hand still locked in his that he released it, returning to his shadows.

The silence took over the courtyard after that strange scene and the princess turned to lord Eddard. He looked disappointed, not expecting such lack of gallantry of his own son. She looked around her, trying to regain her composure and, with a shaky voice, asked:

“What about your Lady Wife, My Lord?”

Giving her his arm, he said:

“She is with our son Bran. He had an accident two weeks earlier and is not quite well. Do not fret about it, my lady. You’ll meet them tonight, for the feast in your honor.”

Walking towards the Castle, being escorted by her future father in law and her betrothed, she looked back, seeking Jon Snow’s sad eyes, but he was not there anymore.

——

The music had stopped and Robb made a small courtesy. The had danced all night and Haelena had slid through the Great Hall with grace and beauty. Many men had asked for the privilege of dancing with the fair princess, but Lord Robb always took her in his arms, and before she had time to answer, they were already twisting with the music.

Lady Catelyn had appeared briefly and approached the girl. She had red and tired eyes, full of sorrow, remaining close by her husband side. She had escorted the girl to Bran’s chambers, where she stared at him for the longest of times before reaching him with her small gloved hand, stroking his hair softly. They came back to the Hall without saying anything to each other and when the maid’s started to serve the deserts, Lady Catelyn excused herself and climbed the stairs to sit by her son.

“Oh, my princess, you were the most charming in the hall.” Said Lady Sansa by her side, while she took a sip of wine.

“Well, thank you, My Lady. I am most grateful for your remark.” She responded, breathing heavily. Her stays were tight around her waist and the thin blouse she wore under her bodice, laced under her neck, was wet with sweat. She hated that blouse, that made her look like a girl of ten. Unfortunately, for the Starks, she was a unflowered maid and she must appear as such.

“Oh Lord” She though, “I need some rest.”

“My Ladies, My Lords, I must excuse myself, as I have danced all night and the voyage to Winterfell was tiresome. I pray thee good night.” She said, bowing courteously. Robb escorted her until the Great Door and them she was by herself, with Ser Harry following her steps.

She crossed the courtyard under the moon when she saw the glistening of polished metal. Curiously, she approached the vision. It was the bastard Jon Snow, training under the stars, his shirt laying carelessly over a bunch of hay. He was not a year over six and ten, a boy still, but his muscles were hard with training and glistening with sweat. She wished to touch him and feel his warmth, skin to skin, and that though made her blush. She must go away right now. An infatuation was the last thing she needed.

Haelena started to walk again when Jon saw her. He stopped, scared, but made a little courtesy and said:

“I hope you enjoyed the feast, my princess.”

She turned back to him, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, My Lord, I indeed enjoyed the celebration. But I noticed your absence and it saddened me the most. Am I too boring for you to not give yourself the pleasure of my company, Ser?” She asked, in a devilish manner.

“I am no Lord, my Lady. I am a northern bastard, a Snow, and we are not allowed in feast. Especially the one’s for fair and mysterious princesses.” He said, coming towards her. He looked so lost near the Stark household… And now, he had a little smirk in his face, while swinging the sword up and down.

“Are you not allowed to be proper and respectful towards your princess?” She asked, raising her eyebrows in defiance.

“Well, My Lady, in all honesty: I just didn’t thought that my lips were worth of touching your fingers. With all respect.”

The silence took over them, Jon feeling ashamed of his boldness and Haelena blushing heavily under the moonlight. If Lady Catelyn heard what he said, she would have taken him by his ear, never to be heard of again. However, there was something about her, on the way she cocked her head like a curious hound or the way she raised one eyebrow dramatically, that made him courageous enough to flirt with her, trying to charm the pale princess like he did with the kitchen’s maids. How could he resist her?

Haelena broke his line of thoughts asking:

“Do you know how to use it?” Haelena asked, pointing out with her head the blade in his hand.

“Well, yes.” He said. “Why do you ask?”

“I always wanted to learn. Maybe you could teach me?” She asked, cheekily. “What am I doing, my Lord?” She thought to herself.

“I am sure that your betrothed would very much enjoy to teach you the ways with his fine weapon. Or maybe your own knight. They are certainly more skilled than me.” He put the pointy end of the sword on the ground.

“Ser Harry has to keep an eye in the surroundings. I do not wish to be murdered in these strange lands. And my Lord Robb is not here with me: you are. So, what should I do?” She asked, taking the blade of his hands.

“Well, first you have to take of your gloves. They will be on your way, when you start to use properly the handle.” He said, looking at her tiny leathered white gloves.

“They are leather, my Lord. Proper to this use, I imagine.”

He chuckled and answered her impertinence.

“They are too tight, my princess. I beg thee, take them off.”

Suddenly, Haelena felt hot, for the first time in her life. She was accustomed with the heat, as she lived near the fire pits and handled the draganae herself. But this was different: it was spreading through her cheeks, down her spine, up to the… Oh my Lord!

She took the gloves slowly, finger by finger, saving them in her dress pocket. She tried to reach for the weapon in Jon hand’s, but he came forward, placing himself behind her, holding her hands in his, fastening around the handle of the blade. She turned her head, looking for his eyes, waiting for a scream filled with pain… But there was nothing. Only him, with his heavy breath over her ears.

He was warm, as a summer breeze, and Haelena felt dizzy. He was too close for comfort, with his stomach pressed in her back, his dark curls over her shoulder, his strong hands swinging the sword in careful movements. She was hot and heavy with something unknown and she blushed ashamed of these feelings.

If she turned her head slowly… She could reach his face and plant a soft kiss over his damp skin and then…

A scream woke her up from her dreams and they separated, as if caught in a terrible act. Ser Harry was with his sword in hand, looking over his shoulder, waiting for the attack. The scream came again, together with a low snarl by the tower she visited earlier.

The tower that Bran laid in his slumber.

“Jon! It is Bran!” She screamed, forgetting the sword in her feet, gathering her skirts around her and running towards the noises.

Jon came behind her and Ser Harry, blade in hand, eyes full of terror. She climbed the stairs in haste, her heavy skirts and the tight bodice slowing her down, making Ser Harry and Jon overtake her and reach the door together.

She was far behind, her lungs tired and her legs sore. She could only hear the tumbling of bodies, the screams of a women and the howling of a wolf. When she arrived, Ser Harry was beside Lady Catelyn, her hands wrapped in his cloak, soaking them with blood. The direwolf, Summer, so huge for a puppy, the size of a small poney, was guarding the boy in the bed, his mouth open in a snarl. Jon was over a man with a mask, his sword in a strange angle.

She came forward, looking terrified. Jon’s blade had crossed the man’s body, making a huge tear in his abdomen. She saw things that weren’t supposed to see the light of the day and the sickness came to her. She raised one hand to the man’s neck, searching for a heartbeat, forgetting for a brief moment that she was not wearing gloves.

When she took the fingers off his body, the burnt images of them were tattooed in his skin.

The silence was broken by a trembling voice, near the bed:

“Take him away.”

Haelena saw Lady Catelyn stay upright, her eyes locked in her son’s, still asleep.

Putting her gloves again, she came to Lady Stark, holding her injured hands in hers, while Ser Harry took one arm of the dead man and Jon took the other, prepared to take him out of the room.

“Not him. The bastard.” Lady Stark said firmly, her eyes going to poor Jon Snow, hunched over the weight of the assassin’s body.

He put the man on the floor, carefully, and left the room, with sad eyes and downturned mouth, were once stood glistening eyes and a devilish smirk.

— —

Jon Snow felt the cold night air in his face as soon he arrived at the courtyard. It was full of movement, as the feast has finished and the word about the murderer has spread.. The man passed by him without taking a second look, without saying a gentle word. He was a lonely boy in the world, without a soul to care for him.

“You look like you have been ran over by horses, lad.” Said a voice behind him, near the stables. Uncle Benjen was all in black, his hand resting in his hilt.

“Aye, I feel like that, in fact.” The boy answered, leaning in the wall by his uncle.

“I’ve heard that you saved Lady Stark from certain death.” The man said. “Your ladyship must have been please with such gallantry.”

Jon gave a sad smile in return, not saying anything. Benjen knew that Lady Catelyn hated the poor boy, who had done nothing wrong in his short life.

“My boy, don’t worry about it. She must not have said anything, but I’m sure she was grateful.”

Jon felt cold with his thin linen shirt, the freezing stone by his back. He was miserable, missing the warm skin and beautiful smile of the princess by his side. He gave a short and bitter laugh.

“I’m glad that you found my remark funny, Jon.”

He looked at Uncle Benjen, with a little smirk on his face.

“I was thinking about earlier. I was so happy and warm, teaching the princess to handle a sword. And then we heard a scream. In a blink of an eye I was kicked out of the room like a thief in the night, with nothing but my linen shirt and a bloody sword.”

The old man walked to his nephew, his brows bent over his worried eyes.

“Do you love the princess, lad?”

Jon sighted, looking at his uncle.

“I don’t think so. I barely know her, you see. She is bright and beautiful and... Maybe, I only miss the little dignity with which she treated me, as if I was human.” Said the boy, closing his eyes with hurt. The knowledge that an outsider treated him better than his own kin was terribly real. “I’ve to go, Uncle Benjen. To the Watch. I can’t live like this. Not anymore.”

His uncle put his gloved hands over his nephew shoulders and squeezed a little bit, reassuring the boy.

“Your father already gave me his blessings. We were to wait until the princess arrival, but she is here and we can go home. To the Wall. You will meet your new brothers and have a new life, just like you always wanted.”

They both looked forward, as the huge white wolf came towards them, his fur stained with dirty.

“We leave tomorrow morning, Jon. And all will be well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! This is my first fic and I tried to create a fun and different environment, without loosing the essence of the GOT books.  
> Please, excuse any english mistakes that I commited, as English is not my first language.  
> I will be posting a new chapter every week!


	4. Of regrets and departures

“You have not seen this? In the fire?” Asked Lord Stark gently, looking at the small girl sitting in front of him. She looked tiny, with her white furs and vast skirts around her, pale as the snow.

“I’m sorry, my Lord. I’ve seen this, yes. Although… I thought it would not happen. Not right now or maybe ever. Unless…” She said feebly.

“Unless…?” He waited, while her eyes ran through the room, searching for an answer.

“I don’t know, my Lord. It is very atypical, you see. I’m sure there must be an explanation.” Her fingers were locked in her lap, twisting nervously.

“I sure hope so. You warned me of dangers my family would suffer. However, my son falls to almost certain death, my wife is attacked in the middle of the night and you said nothing!” He got up, holding the back of the large chair he was sitting on.

“I’m terribly sorry.”

The silence filled the room, while Lord Stark sighted in regret.

“It’s a terrible burden for a little girl to carry, my Lady. I beg your pardon for my rudeness. You have already helped us a lot and Robb seems pleased with your company.” He said, while she blushed heavy tones of pink.

He sat again, turning to face the little girl, with the high collar and blushed cheeks. She was a beauty indeed, her intelligent eyes darting around the room. He took her small gloved hand and hold in his, feeling the warmth leaking through the needle points.

“I saw the body, Lady Zaldriz. I’ve seen your fingertips burned in his flesh.” He kept his eyes low in her elegant fingers. “If Robb touches you, will he burn also?”

He looked up and saw her eyes, full with shame. She was shameful of who she was, he thought. She was a strange girl, in strange lands, with strange powers. What was the mystery around the Zaldriz’s of Valyria?

“No, my Lord. He is a Stark, like you. You may take my glove, if you want.” She said, quietly, looking at her feet. Finger by finger, Ned Stark took out the leathered glove, feeling the increasing warmth in his palm.

She was hot like a summer day, like the hot pools around the Weirwood tree. He could feel the sweat going down his wrist, barely being able to hold her properly.

“Do not worry, my Lord. Lord Robb will be able to lay with me. It’s just… different. They say that it’s like a feverish dream.” She said, blushing as the maid she was. Lord Stark blushed too, knowing that this was a constant worry in his head, since he touched her nude skin.

“Who says, my princess?” He had to ask, suddenly curious about the unseen world.

“My uncles, my Lord. They have been travelling the world for centuries now. They stayed many years in the north, with northern women. Some Starks, some Karstarks… They didn’t burn like the southerners, or so they said.” She paused, finding the proper terms, her voice heavy with longing of her relatives. “They say that, however, there was never babes. It was too much, you see. So many moons, with a dragon in their bellies.

He put her glove again, glad that he was not feeling anymore the sun in his fingers.

“And you believe that you could bear children, My Lady?”

She sighted, holding his gaze.

“Once I’m flowered, yes. I believe so. I must so.”

He nodded. He understood now. He questioned himself for weeks, trying to understand why she was saving them. A princess, from a foreign kingdom, beautiful as the moonlight, willing to help them and marry his son and bear his name.

And now he knew.

She needed someone. A man that could touch her, love her and fill her with children. His Robb.

He felt sorry for Haelena. Away from her home, her country, her people. Having to wear those gloves every single day, always obedient, always respectful, always graceful, waiting her transition to womanhood patiently. And then, she would be handed to her husband and her youth would be over. This horrible thought made him ask, worriedly:

“Your father was aware that I was planning to send Sansa and Arya to Dorne, while I’m Hand of King Robert in the Crownlands. He has asked me to send you with them. However, I now think that it would be better to ask you, my Lady. Do you wish to go?” Asked Ned Stark, catching her soaring gaze. If she went with the girls, she could be a child for a little longer. And free, running in the water gardens, feeling the sun in her feverish skin.

“This will please me very much, my Lord.” Answered Haelena, putting a shy smile in her face.

“This will please you more than get acquainted with your betrothed?” He demanded, in a soft voice. He didn’t want to scare the young princess, who looked like a doe, so tensed by his side.

She became pale, her eyes widening while she licked her lips, searching for words.

“I would very much enjoy Robb’s company. However, my Lord, I must be sincere. The same way I warned you to send your girls to Dorne, I must go with them. I saw things. And I must act.”

His brow was furrowed. He stroked her hand, trying to understand her meaning.

“You may be wrong, my princess. You see…” But she was already interrupting him, holding her hands tightly to him.

“You must trust me. You must. This is the only way, I’m sure.”

He stayed quiet, watching the fire crackling in the fireplace, his hands tied in hers. He felt safe, strangely, knowing that the small girl was watching over his family. He would go to Kings Landing, leaving his castle and banners behind, knowing that, while trusting her, all would be well.

“I trust you, My Lady.”

Before she could answer, the door opened and Maester Luwin was outside, bearing a soft smile.

“My Lord, Lord Benjen and Jon Snow are going now. Would you like to fare them your goodbyes?”

Haelena got up hurriedly. It is too soon, she thought. He was not supposed to part until she and the girls went to Dorne themselves.

“Well, yes. I beg your leave, my Lady.” Said Lord Stark, his voice soft, like he was waking up from a deep slumber, bowing in a small courtesy and moving towards the door. Before he could go, the princess asked in a trembling voice.

“May I go as well, my Lord? I wish to fare your Lord Brother and your son a good journey.”

Lord Eddard nodded and she took his arm, while walking through the chambers and halls, towards the courtyard.

— —

There was Benjen Stark, with his dark clothes and furs, and Jon Snow, looking small in his heavy brown furs, gently stroking his horse mane. He was sorrowful, leaving the place that he had called home for so many years. He had said his goodbyes to an unwilling Lady Stark, a sleeping Bran and the toddler Rickon. He tried to find Sansa, but she was too busy with her needlework, paying no attention to the boy.

Only Arya hugged him, properly sad of his future absence. He had given her a small sword, thin and curvy, like a needle. The girl loved and tried to attack Jon, laughing with pleasure.

He would miss her.

Lord Stark approached Benjen, giving him a long and tight hug. Jon looked around and saw her, white as the weirwood tree.

Haelena suddenly felt shy by Jon’s side, her courage and wickedness leaving her body as soon she locked her eyes with his. He approached her, making her heart flutter in her chest, the heat climbing her cheeks.

“My Lady.” He said, softly, bowing his head towards her. She responded with another bow, looking straight at him. “I have to beg your pardon. I was very impolite yesterday. I treated you and approached you in a manner that was not fitting. I’m a bastard, after all.”

She missed the boy who hold her gloveless hand and whispered instructions in her ear. Now, he was a shadow of himself, begging pardon for doing nothing wrong. However, it was the proper thing to do: they were too close, too intimate. A princess and a bastard, could she imagine the repercussion?

“That’s why you are leaving?” She asked, trying to find the truth hidden in his face.

“No, My Lady. It was time to go.” He said, turning his back to her, adjusting his saddle.

“I never thought that you were a liar.” She declared, her cheeks flushing with anger.

He turned around, his eyes saddened. She regretted her harsh words the moment she saw his trembling lips, his misery printed in his frown.

“I am not, My Lady. I don’t belong here and you were the only person in moons that treated me with kindness. For that, I am grateful. Now, I must go and tread my own path.”

Jon wished, with all his heart, that everything was different. He wished he was a Lord, a proper Lord, with banners and royal blood. He, then, would be able to take her as his wife, and have pale children, with maroon eyes like hers. And black curly hair, like his.

He wished he was not a bastard, running away from an absent family and a strange past.

The stillness took them, not a word being said, only the horse’s noises and the soft conversation between brothers by their side. Ghost came towards the princess, his enormous head poking the folds of her skirt. She stroked his ears with a shy smile, gaining courage to say her last words.

“Well, My Lord, I accept your excuses, then.” She said, her words leaving her mouth in a mumble.

“I am no Lord, my princess.” He answered, urging for her warm touch in his skin.

“To me, you are.” She whispered, locking her eyes in his.

He was blushing and gasping for air, eyes intense of knowledge and something else, that the princess didn’t know. He grasped her hands in his, squeezing tightly, without saying any words. She could feel the air sparkling around them, like static in a dry weather, the heat climbing her legs and twisting around her thighs, up and up, reaching her belly and making her tremble.

They could have stayed like this forever. However, Lord Stark and his brother were coming towards them, making her add hastily:

“I fare thee a good journey to the Wall, Jon Snow. I hope someday I can visit you in your new home.”

“You are most welcome, princess. It is a freezing land, but extremely beautiful.” Said Benjen, bowing his head in courtesy. She smiled and hoped that he was right. She would like to meet Lord Snow once again before her wedding. Just to feel that strange warm in her belly once more, his warm skin against her fingers, his breath over her ear.

She blushed and said sweet words towards the travelling party and her heart ached while she saw them mounting their horses and leaving Winterfell forever, the giant white beast licking her fingers one last time, running to catch his master.

— —

“Bran?” Haelena asked softly, her lips near the boy’s ears. She spent a week by lady Catelyn’s side, gaining her trust and her admiration. Soon, she started to take care of the boy, feeding him and talking to him, while brushing his hair gently.

“Bran, I know you can hear me and soon you will be awake. Listen to me carefully: as soon you are awake, Jojen and Meera Reed will be here. I sent them a letter, with the blessing of your father, saying that it would be good for you, to have some company. Jojen is a green seer and he will help you understand your abilities. Eventually, you will have to go beyond the wall.”

She thought of the boy she saw in the flames, broken and scared, fighting the heavy snows and the strange monsters to understand his future.

“But, everything to his due time. I will help you and I will be there with you. Always.” She stroked his auburn soft brown hair. “And Summer will be there too.”

She looked at the wolf by the boy’s feet, his orange eyes watching her attentively.

“Are you ready, sweetheart?” Asked Lady Stark by the door.

“Yes, my Lady.” Haelena answered, getting up and adjusting the folds of her skirt. Lady Catelyn grabbed her arm and led her through the castle.

Outside, in the courtyard, the retinue was ready, the girls waiting by the carriage with their trunks and handmaids. By their side was Robb, tall and handsome, his hand over the hilt of the sword. He was talking discreetly with Theon, by his side, hushed tones, in secrecy.

She talked briefly with Ser Rodrik and Maester Luwin, gave her farewells to the servants and waved to the children. She received the blessings of her new house, gifts and flowers, handkerchiefs and buttons. The girls said their goodbyes to Robb and Theon and Arya kissed her mother too eagerly, wanting to get on the carriage as fast as she could.

Sansa was tearful, holding her mother’s hand, whispering words to her, promising letters aplenty. She was already wearing her hair in those intricate braids that Lady Zaldriz wore and begged for her father and mother to use a stay and petticoats like the one’s the foreign girl would wear. Lord Eddard was glad to leave earlier, as he could not hear Sansa and her pleading anymore.

“My dear girl, I hope my children will not be a burden to you.” Said Lady Catelyn, embracing Haelena in her arms. The girl smiled and rested her cheek in the older women shoulder briefly, feeling the furs tinkle her nose. She started to love her future mother and could not understand how someone so charming and gracious could hate anyone, especially Lord Snow.

“They will not be a trouble, My Lady. I’m sure we’ll have a lot of fun and, by the end of our trip, we will be blood sisters.”

Lady Stark smiled warmingly, stroking the girl’s hand. Her Tully blue eyes were glistening with tears and Haelena felt loved, truly loved. The woman tried for a kiss in her cheeks and, remembering that she could not touch the princess, took a step back, watching from afar the party.

“My Lady, I wish you the safest of trips. May the Drowned God protect you and the girls.” Said Lord Theon, taking her hand in his and kissing charmly. He was a good lad, Theon, always by Robb side, with his sand hair glistening in the sun, his moss green eyes watching the maid’s passing by. Maybe he was a little too cocky, treating badly poor Jon and thinking highly of himself, just because once he was a prince.

“Thank you, My Lord. Take good care of my betrothed.” Said Haelena, looking at Robb by his side, who blushed heavily with joy.

“I will, My Lady.” Said Theon, bowing courteously and stepping back, so that groom and bride to be stayed close together, with some privacy.

“If I were you, I would explain what is to take care of me. Theon has some different understanding of that word.” Said Robb in a whisper, taking her hands in his. He was a boy still, red hair and blue eyes, some whiskers trying to appear in his soft pink skin.

Haelena did not feel for Robb the same way she felt for Jon, that night where he fought the dark night, shirtless and breathless. The same night where he killed a man to protect his little brother, the assassin’s blood over his strong hands. However, his was a handsome boy, a gentle one, who treated her like a goddess. She could feel the pride of having her as his bride all over him, his chest full of joy.

“You are right, My Lord. As soon we set sail, I will send Lord Theon a long letter, explaining what should he do in your company and what should he not do.” Robb laughed, a great laugh, full of tenderness and the girl felt her cheeks blush.

He stopped to catch his breath, taking her hands and placing over his heart.

“Be sure, My Lady, to have a safe journey, and, when it’s time, return to me intact.” He confided, leaning his head towards her. She could feel his heartbeat through the layers of clothing and the leather of her glove, trembling like a little bird. “This is yours, My Princess, and only yours. Stay safe and he will not be broken. Care for it, will you?”

She looked at his blue eyes, blue as the sea and the sky and felt the love he had for her. He was enamored by the fair princess, gentle and sweet. And she, feeling his heart in the palm of her hand, could feel the love in her fingertips, trying to climb up to her heart and claim as his own.

“I will, My Lord.” She answered, licking her lips anxiously. He smiled at her and came closer, his lips near hers, his nose almost touching her skin.

“I will write to you, every day, my Haelena. We will be happy, I promise this to you.” And he locked his lips in hers. It was sweet and gentle, his lips so soft and cold against her own. He tasted of lemon cakes and wine, the acid flavor making her mouth wet. His hands cupped her cheeks, caressing them softly as the winter wind and Haelena wondered what the taste of Jon Snow’s lips would be.

He parted the kiss, his lips locked in a joyful smile and kissed fervently her fingers. He helped her climb the steps of the carriage and when the horses started their movement, she bent over the window and waved her goodbyes.

She would only be back when the north became independent. It took three long years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! This is my first fic and I tried to create a fun and different environment, without losing the essence of the GOT books.  
> Please, excuse any english mistakes that I committed, as English is not my first language.  
> I will be posting a new chapter every week!


	5. Of Littlefingers and Vipers

It has been three years. Lord Eddard sighted. Three years dodging problems and intrigue, like his life depended on it.

“Well.” He thought. “I guess it depends alright.”

The small council would make him insane, eventually. Grand Maester Pycelle was a drunkard and a whoremonger, Lord Petyr always had sweet and poisonous words in his mouth, Lord Varys was always scheming something with his little birds, Lord Renly was hardly present and Lord Stannis was always gloomy, being offended over nothing, leading the reunions to chaos.

“Lord Stark. I’ve been searching for you.” Said a voice behind him. He turned around and saw Lord Petyr, his thin moustache over his thin lips, grey eyes watching him with, what appeared to be, resentment.

Lord Eddard didn’t like Littlefinger since he laid his eyes on the boy, when they were young and courting the Tully girls. He was a ward in Riverrrun and spared too much time chasing Catelyn and fooling around Lysa. Ned knew that Petyr didn’t like to be called by his nickname, evoking his place of birth, a place in the Vale of low value. He was always trying to be more grandiose than he really was.

“Lord Baelish.” Said Ned briefly. This man was never good news. “What do you want?”

Petyr seemed chocked by the innuendo, but Ned had not so much patience for riddles and enigmas. The small man was always trying to give Ned ideas: first with his gossip about Lord Arryn and the smith apprentice. Then with the book about the Baratheon’s family tree. Then the talks about Queen Cersei and Lord Jaime, brother and sister, so close with each other, so protective of each other, as if…

He was tired of Petyr and tired of the small council of lunatics. He felt that his moment has come: he would pledge independence to Lord Robert, remembering a small favor, so they would be even and lead separate paths. It will not be easy: Robert will scream and rage, destroy things with his warhammer and humiliate Ned in public. But he will come to his senses eventually. And then he will be free.

“Nothing in particular. I’ve come from Dorne and paid a visit to your daughters. They had bloom in the warmer weather.”

After Robert discovered about Ned’s plans to marry his son to a foreign princess, related to the Targaryen’s, nonetheless, he was enraged. He swore and broke vases and when Ned hold him in his arms, he cried. He was lost in a toxic court, with ruthless people and his only friend tossed away the promised for them to join their houses, taking Sansa away with the foreign bride. It took Ned a week to calm the King’s mind and by the end of the month the King was certain: he would make an alliance with his daughter, Myrcella, and Trystane Martell, the youngest son of Doran. So, she was shipped to Sunspear. Unfortunately, this served Lord Petyr of an excuse to visit the palace frequently, to see the well fare of the princess.

Or so he said.

“I’m aware, Lord Petyr. I’m always exchanging letters with my good daughter.” Said Ned, scanning Littlefinger with the corner of his eye.

“So, you know that Arya had become a gracious girl, very quick and swift with the sword. She calls it ‘water dancing’. Very charming.” He chuckled. “And dearest Sansa, so beautiful, with the auburn hair and blue eyes. She had grown into a proper lady, I am happy to tell. Unfortunately, she and your good daughter remain by Lord Doran’s side every day, when they should be playing with the others by the Water Gardens.”

Ned knew everything Lord Petyr told and was glad to see that he didn’t pay his mind to the strange habits of his daughters. Arya was being trained by the best swordsman in Essos, or so he was told by Lady Haelena, and would be a great knight, able to defend her family, if she wished so. Sansa was very sad at the beginning, when Lady Zaldriz asked her to remain by Lord Doran side and keep him company. However, with time, she understood her good sister reasoning and paid close attention to what the old prince had to say, regarding war, coin, health, education, culture, industry… And when Littlefinger came to visit, she and Doran would spend hours talking about what Petyr said to her and what he really meant, searching for his subterfuges.

Sansa was prepared in Winterfell to be a lady to her husband and now she was being prepared to be a lady by her own right. Steel under ivory skin, like a northerner should be.

“That’s all, My Lord?” Asked Ned, vexed.

The man gave a crooked smile, holding his hands I his back.

“Actually, no. King Robert is willing to go hunting a wild boar that appeared near the King’s woods. He is very excited with his plan. I thought that the Hand of the King ought to know about this. Especially when it’s known that the King is growing old and tired.”

“Thank you, My Lord.” Said Ned brusquely. He turned around and started to march to the Kings chambers, feeling Littlefinger’s smirk in his neck.

— —

The sun was warm over Haelena’s skin and she sighted, blissfully. She could hear the screams of children playing on the pools, the singing of the green birds that lived over the trees, the warm wind taking sand into the palace.

Even after three years, she still loved this place.

When they first arrived, wearing furs and brocade, all they could feel was the unbearable heat. As soon as possible, the northern girls traded their heavy skirts for silk and myrish lace, embroidered carefully by the hands of Sansa.

Now, they were used to the daring necklines and thin fabric, the silk slippers they would wear outside the palace protecting their toes from the heated stone. They were used to the children, so many of them, running and playing around, their screams of joy filling the humid air. They were used to the way the dornish lived, loving and being loved without borders or precautions.

They’ve grown in those lands and became women.

Sansa was sitting by Doran’s side, as tall as ever. She had a perfect posture and, with age, her eyes became bluer and her hair got fuller. Her baby cheeks had faded and, now, she had the sharp lines of the Starks. She approached them and started to hear the conversation:

“You say that the Dragon Queen has gone to Mereen and freed the slaves. Well, I can’t see the opportunity you are seeing, my prince.” Said Sansa, eyes forward, watching Myrcella and Trystane by one pool, watching an orange fish go by.

“It’s very easy, my dear. She gained political power, the kind of power that will be able to take her to Westeros and claim the throne, in a very near future. They say that she has dragons, a Dothraki hoard and, now, Unsullied under her command. She broke the siege of Mereen, even though that the odds were against her. I see a bright politician and a strong queen.” Said Doran, nodding to Haelena when she approached them, directing her to a seat by his side.

“You forgot, my prince, she was sold to one of the biggest Khalasar, commanded by Khal Drogo, and she was the one responsible for his demise and the end of the hoard. Now, only the old and the women ride by her side. They say her dragons are only hatchlings, small still and none capable of doing any damage to a man. And, at last, she may have freed the slaves and have the eternal devotion of the Unsullied. But men die and when you can’t train new ones to replace them, you don’t have an army anymore.” Responded Sansa, her eyes glistening towards Doran. “I know that you are faithful to the Targaryens, my Lord. However, you must agree, she was not prepared to be a queen and she only had a few moments of luck.”

Doran laughed in delight and rested his hand over Sansa’s.

“I’m sure she’s not as well prepared as you, sweet Sansa.” He sighted. “You condemn me, to think about my son’s future?” He asked, looking deeply into Sansa’s eyes. She did not flinched.

“I just believe that Quentyn could do better. He’s the oldest son of the Dornish prince and he doesn’t deserve to marry a self-proclaimed queen, with no money and no lands, only freed slaves, horses and those evil creatures she claims as her sons. He would be stuck between angry slave lords, giant lizards and the Targaryen madness.”

“You believe you are a better match for Quentyn, my dear?” Teased Doran, watching as her cheeks turned a bright red. Haelena had already approached this thought with Doran, seeing how Sansa would spend hours with the boy, when he visited the Water Gardens. He was not a handsome man and not the brightest, but Sansa would still smile and flicker her eyelashes towards him.

“I will not hear this kind of nonsense. Daenerys will be Quentyn’s end and if you, my Lord, is too blind to see a fact, I can't go on with this conversation.” And with a fuss of skirts, she got up and vanished inside the palace walls.

Doran sighted and pressed his fingertips over his temples.

“Are you sure, my Lord?” Asked Haelena, her eyes hovering over the sickly lord.

“No, my princess. I will never be sure.” He opened his eyes and glared at his son and the golden princess, playing by the rose bushes. “I truly believe that Quentyn would marry lady Sansa and be glad about this. They would have a small home, with a small household. But they would be happy: Quentyn would do anything that Sansa desired, with paying no mind to it. And Sansa would be very pleased with everyone doing her own bidding.”

“But you are still loyal to the Targaryens. And Daenerys is your last chance of revenge.” Haelena said, in a whisper.

“Am I too obvious, my princess?” He asked, taking her gloved hand in his.

“You are a man, my lord. Men are usually obvious.”

He laughed, stroking her hand gently.

“I wish that all the young ladies and lords could marry the one’s that they love. Life would be easier and sweeter.”

She smiled, remembering when she arrived at Dorne, her nights filled in sweet dreams of Jon Snow, her head resting by his side on the pillow, her hands cupped in his cheeks. She could feel the beard growing in his soft skin and the muscles hardening under his chest. He smelled of sweat and beer and she would close her eyes, listening to his tales of wonder and adventure, feeling that tightening in her belly and the desire to embrace his body in her thighs.

That was then. When she was young and hopeful, when love filled her veins. Now, she only had her memories by her side at night and a dreamless sleep.

Sitting by the old prince’s side, watching the children playing, hearing the screams of birds and feeling the warm wind over her skin, Haelena never thought of anything sweeter than to be in her lover’s arms.

— —

“Come on, Ned! Don’t be so gloomy!” Screamed King Robert, climbing a horse with difficulty. Ned was by his side, clad in leather armor, eyes watching his surroundings. The frail health of the sovereign was noticeable. He was yellowish, eyes deep in their sockets. His luscious hair was falling and he had bald spots in his beard. The pox has taken his body, slowly, the red pustules climbing to his lips and his nose.

He was the shadow of a man.

“I still think you should rest, My Lord. You look very tired.” Said Ned, his eyes darting to the skin that fell over his bones.

The King sighted and his eyes turned bright grey. He was tired, it was true. Sometimes, it was so difficult to get up and about the castle. Some days, he would stay in his chambers, alone with thoughts and memories, especially those from Lyanna. Usually, he would smell winter roses in his pillow and hear her soft laugh, thick with pleasure and fun. He could still feel in his fingers the warmth of her skin and the softness of her lips.

“I know.” The King answered. “But I would prefer to die in a horse back than in a mattress full of piss.” He took his hammer from the page boy by his side. “Please, Ned.”

Lord Stark nodded, while the group of hunters started to march through the trees. He saw the little smirk in Littlefinger’s face as they parted, the white cloaks of the Kingsguard glistening in the sun.

“So, now there are two miserables in this hunt.” Said Lord Tyrion by his side. He was up in the horse, supported by a chair with high back rest. He looked a little drunk, wobbling in his high seat.

“I’m just worried about the king’s welfare.” Said Ned, his body moving together with his mare. She was a nice beast, with a good temper and soft fur, proper to small children or ladies. It was a gift from Catelyn, for his last name day.

“Well, you can be worried in here. I, as official provider of beverage to the King, as my sister insisted, need to be close by his side.” He said, shacking a small flask full of dornish wine.

“I never heard of anything like an official provider of beverage.” Ned looked confused.

“Oh, it’s new. I may have done something to upset Cersei and now she wants to see me fall from a high horse in my wobbly chair and break a neck or something.” Declared the dwarf.

“If I were you, Lord Tyrion, would be more careful.” Said the warden of the north, watching as the little man tried to kick his horse, so he could trot.

“You don’t need to worry about me, my Lord. I would be a very merry ghost, entering the maid’s chambers without being invited, howling all night by Cersei’s ears… I don’t fear death, my Lord. I could embrace it gladly.” And whistling right after, he finally made his mount run towards the beginning of the party.

Robert was looking at a bush, fixedly. The hunters got quiet, listening to their surroundings. Tyrion could hear the distinct sound of a boar sniffing with his large snout.

“There he is, come on boys!” Announced King Robbert, kicking his heals in the horse, shooting straight through the woods.

All Tyrion could hear was the sound of hulls in the ground, the voices of the guards screaming to their stallions, the clatter of swords. King Robert was a great horseman and was zooming through the woods, the poor boar in a frenetic scape. The dwarf, much lighter than the other knights was close behind, clinging to the reins as his life depended on it.

And then, a sound. Loud as thunder, followed by the impact of something heavy on the ground. Then the screams, so loud and clear as the day. He kept his pace, eyes searching for the accident, seeing in the distance a confuse mass of horse, man and blood.

Under a screaming horse, covered in blood, eyes white in terror, laid the King, screaming at the top of his lungs, holding his stomach in his hands. Still attached in his side was the Warhammer, blood flowing from the wound.

Tyrion felt his own horse tripping, making him fall from his chair with a thud. He laid by his side, feeling his ribs tender with every breath, his palms bruised and a bump on the head. He got up with difficulty and limped towards the mass. He took Roberts hand and applied more pressure, the horse kicking and screaming over his body. He looked at the King, his face pale and flaccid, eyes full of worries. He leaned towards Tyrion and mumbled:

“I cannot die under a horse, Tyrion. You better do something RIGHT NOW.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! This is my first fic and I tried to create a fun and different environment, without losing the essence of the GOT books.  
> Please, excuse any english mistakes that I committed, as English is not my first language.  
> I will be posting a new chapter every week!


	6. Of Death and Freedom

“Ned?” Asked the man in his dying bed.

Lord Stark approached, smelling the decaying air. All the windows were closed, the fire roaring in the fireplace, keeping the room hot and unbearable. Under a mass of covers and furs laid the King, his eyes nearly closed, sweat running down his cheeks.

“I’m here, Your Grace.” He said, finally, sitting on the bed.

“I’m glad you’re here. I need you. One last time.” His voice was heavy and slurred, almost as his tongue was too heavy.

“Anything you need, Rob.” The warden of the north took his friends hands in his, so cold and rigid. The King gave a small smile, listening to his nickname as a young boy and said:

“Go to my writing desk and fetch me those papers and a feather with ink.” And then he screamed with his last strength. “Guards!”

Ser Jaime Lannister and Ser Arys Oakheart blurted in the room, eyes darting towards Lord Stark, ready to jump and take him into custody.

“Don’t even consider what you’re thinking, Jaime. I need two witnesses. You two will do. Go on, Ned.”

The old man went there and came back quickly, his hands trembling. Robert started to search for the right paper, the others flying around the bed and landing on the ground. When he saw what he needed, he took the feather out of Ned’s hand and signed at the end, with difficulty, the letters inclined and weak.

At last, he finished and pressed his seal, marking the parchment.

“May it be known, that I, King Robert, the first of my name, declare independence for the North. Long live King Eddard Stark, first of his name.”

The four men stood in stunned silence, as Ned read the parchment in his hand. Ser Arys cleared his throat, catching the King’s attention.

“That’s all, Your Grace?” Said the handsome man, his green eyes shining down at the moribund.

“Yes, Ser Arys. Please, fetch King Eddard his horse and call his bannerman. He’s leaving tonight. You may wait outside.”

With a nod, the men left the putrid chamber, leaving the two long-time friends, side by side.

“I know, Ned. Everything.” Seeing that his friend didn’t say a thing, the King continued. “I know that my children are not mine, I know that the Dragon Queen is gaining power and I know that Cersei thinks that she is oh so smart, but she is just arrogant. I may be old and tired, but I’m not daft.”

Robert felt extremely tired, like he never felt before. But he needed to do this, one last time, for his friend.

“I thought that having you by my side would made me recover from my illness. I was a fool, there’s no cure. I’ve got worse and worse and the enemies are growing strong by the day, Ned. And I cannot lead you to a war that is not mine and it’s not yours. Be free, my friend. Be the King your people deserve.”

“You planned this?” Asked him, looking at the moribund.

“Aye, my friend. I was clearly in my last days. That horse just sped things up a little bit, falling on that mole’s hole.”

“They don’t have mole’s in the south.” Said the northerner, his eyes leaving the paper and going to his friend.

“Aye. I know. You told me once, in the Vale”

The silence took the chamber and they could only look at each other, as the truth sank in. Someone planned the accident, in a way that only a true northerner would know. When he was a child, Ned used to dig in mole’s holes and grab the little creatures by the tail to scare his sister. When he told this to Robert, he didn’t understand properly, as he never saw a mole before. They were a northerner animal, used to the cold lands and plains.

“You need to leave, Ned. Immediately.” Said the King, his breathing getting shallower.

“I need to stay by your side, Rob. I can’t leave. Not now.” Lord Eddard felt his tears running down his cheeks, as his best friend laid in a bed, dying, in front of his eyes.

“Think of your children, Ned. Think of Robb and his betrothed. Of Sansa, Bran, Arya. Little Rickon. If she gets you…” The King coughed, a dry and weary sound. “If Cersei gets you, she would put you on the Black Dungeon.”

“I’m now a King, Rob. You said it yourself, to two witness, white cloaks, nonetheless. I will be fine.” The northerner lord grabbed his friend’s hands in a frenzy, trying to make him understand.

“Don’t trust them. Don’t trust the court, my friend. They would kill you in a blink, just because you know the little secrets. The secrets of the King, the Queen and the Lords and Ladies. And Robb would revenge you, as you revenged your father and brother.” The King coughed again, his face turning red with anguish.

“I…” Started to say Ned, but he was interrupted by the dying King.

“Please, Ned. For me. Now.” He chocked, blood flying in the air, soaking the sheets and his friend’s clothes. Ned could listen the hurried steps of guards outside, opening the door and going towards the King’s bed.

“Your Grace, your horse is ready. Your bannermen are waiting at the courtyard.” Said Ser Arys, gentle eyes in deference to the sovereign. “It was King Robert’s command. Maybe his last.”

And with a nod, Ned got up, walking down the Red Keep, his hand clasped around the North’s Independence. He finally left some minutes later, with some coin and his sword, followed by his knights, as the bells announced the death of King Robert Baratheon.

— —

“We need to go.” Said Haelena to the girls lounging in her chamber. She had received a raven from Lord Stark some minutes ago and, as usual, his children would gather around the princess, as she read what his father wrote to them. Now, they laid in stunned silence, watching the princess scan the letter with her eyes.

“I don’t want to be a princess.” Complained Arya, finally, twisting Needle, her sword, in her hand.

“You don’t have a say on this matter, Arya. We are who we are.” Sansa looked vexed. “Father has commanded us to come home?”

“Yes.” Murmured Haelena. “He says that we will be much safer in Winterfell, now that he has left the Crownlands and Joffrey is king. He asks us to pack our belongings and go as soon as possible. He already sent my father a letter informing of our current status and the planning for the wedding, that will occur… in a moon turn.”

“It is not right, to flee the city like thieves and murderers. Certainly, it makes him a suspect of the Kings death. He could have waited the funeral, at least.” Said Sansa, walking towards her good sister and taking the letter from her hands.

“He is safer as a foreign King, far away from their grip. Lord Tywin is now the Hand. If what your father says is true, he has a big problem to deal with. And a problematic new king.” Said Haelena, as Sansa herself scanned the letter, searching for answers. “Ser Arys and Ser Jaime were witness of the The King last will. No one will deny that.”

“The Six Kingdoms now have more debt than they are able to pay, the majority to the Lannisters of Casterly Rock. Lord Tywin would never spend funds searching for a King, of a major kingdom, whose only connection with the King’s death was staying by his friend side in his dying bed. Aye.” She paused, putting the letter again in her good sister hand. “We are safer at Winterfell. He must warn the Lords, though. We need to defend our borders, just in case.”

And, with that last thought, she was the first up and about, ringing the bell and calling their handmaid’s. She was a general for those ladies and they followed her orders without a question. Haelena sat on the bed in silence, rereading the letter, trying to understand what happened. She knew Lord Stark was to ask for independence, that they would eventually leave Dorne to Winterfell and she would get married to Robb.

But, right now, her heart ached. She loved the place, with the warm sands, the pools, the children, the always present sun.

“I thought you would be dancing with joy.” Said Arya, resting her hand at the princess cheeks. “You will finally marry your prince charming. At last, he is now officially a prince.”

Haelena thought about her betrothed, Robb. A sweet boy, with pink cheeks, red hair and blue eyes. He had been very gallant, promising to her letters and sonnets every day. However, it has been one year since the last time she heard about him, a brief missive regarding the weather.

The first year she would stay every day waiting for the raven to come, reading in her bed the heavy letters that came. He was the one that warned her about Bran waking up, who told her about Theon mischiefs and the way the sun shone over the weirwood tree.

He would compare her to the moon, shining bright over her in the dornish nights. She was sun and stars, winter roses and lady’s lace. She was the reason of his heartbeat and the air he breathed through his lungs. He would write sonnets and poems to her, all of them wishing for her return.

However, at night, when she laid in her silk sheets and stared at her window, when not a soul was still awake and she would close her eyes in tired slumber, she would dream of Snow, the heat of the fireplace in her feet, the weight of the wolf in her lap.

Eventually, with time, Robb started to send smaller letters, very objective. He would still pray for her return, but there was no lyricism in his words. He would skip days in a row, weeks and moons, blaming his heavy study load. She would read the small parchment and close her eyes, feeling the Snow in her cheeks, the grown beard in her fingers. They would talk in rushed tones, watching the night sky full of stars.

And them, one day, there was no more letters or missives or notes. And at night, there was red hair through Snow and she knew she had to let it go. Let them all go.

“I… Yes. It’s true. I just… I like it here. I love it, actually.” She sighed. “I thought that I would meet so many places before… Before staying in Winterfell.”

Arya looked at her with those grey eyes, grey like her father’s. She was still tiny, her body in a boyish frame. If it wasn’t for the long braid she would wear constantly, it would be easy to mistake her for a boy. The small girl smiled wickedly and said:

“Well, we still could meet the Wall. It’s close to Winterfell and Uncle Benjen and Jon are there.”

Haaelena exhaled longly, thinking about the possibilities. She would meet him again, just one last time, before the wedding. It was all she needed. There were problems, however.

“I have to send a raven to your mother, asking if we are allowed to pay them a visit and…”

“No!” Screamed Arya, making Sansa turn around and look at her with angry eyes. “Don’t send anything to mother. She would never allow!”

“Arya, darling, I can’t…” But she was interrupted again by the girl.

“Send to the Lord Commander that the nieces of Benjen Stark are coming to the wall to visit him. And when we arrive at White Harbor, I’m sure that Lord Manderly would escort us to the wall. And when we are safely there, you can send the letter to mother.”

Halena watched the eagerness and the longing she felt, buried in her face. Lady Catelyn… Well, Queen Catelyn would be mad the moment she heard that her precious daughters were visiting the bastard Snow in a faraway castle…She had to hid her own yearning beside her royal façade, her heart beating fast in her chest.

Would he want her there? After all that happened? After what she saw? She still could close her eyes and see the horror in his face, as he tried to take his hands of the small and warm body he hugged so tightly. He tried to take his head out of the nape of her neck, the nose gently brushing her skin while she slept, but he couldn’t. He could only stare at Haelena, laying by their side on the snow, wearing only her thin nightgown, hair loose over her shoulders, down to her breasts.

Would he still be with her? Was he happy with her? Those thoughts polluted her mind, trying to see him on the fire, and made her angry when she saw only flames. It was her who was betrothed, who was to be married with her half-brother and bear him children, she had no right in feeling the way she felt.

Her heart ached for him, and even though her mind was filled with questioning, she found herself saying:

“Alright. But we will only stay for five days and you will send to your mother the letter informing of our little detour. I will write the letter to the Lord Commander now and draft a small missive for your mother, informing that we are leaving. She would like time to prepare the wedding celebration…” The princess eyes got clouded with thoughts, as Arya gladly celebrated her visit.

She suddenly felt a chill over her body, regretting her careless whim of laying her eyes in Jon Snow once again. She was not brave enough for this. She was only a girl, a silly girl, in love with the wrong person.

Love? It was not love. She knew alright what it was, that feeling climbing up her legs like the vipers from Dorne. She lusted for Jon Snow and his weight over her body, like the paintings in Lord Oberyn solar. She blushed heavily, trying to contain her improper feelings.

She sighted, feeling her cheeks burn with shame. She saw Arya looking at her, with interest.

“You know. It will be fun to visit Jon and Uncle Benjen. It has been years since we last talked and they never thought of sending us a letter. Those animals!” Said Arya, reaching the bed and sitting by the princess side. “Try to have some fun there. It will be the last time you have the chance.”

Haelena looked at her in doubt:

“Why do you say?”

Arya shook her shoulders, as it was obvious.

“You will be married, silly. You will be Robb’s wife and will do what he bids you to do.” With a sigh, she added. “He may be nice, but he is not as near fun as Jon.”

— —

Jon was sitting by Maester Aemon side, reading out loud the letter they received from Winterfell. In an unpredictable turn of events, King Robert was dead, the North was free, Joffrey was king of the Six Kingdoms, while Lord Eddard Stark was King of the North.

“Now, we are to swear allegiance to the new King. As the new Lord Commander, I’m invited to the festivities for Prince Robb and Princess Haelena, as their marriage is to be celebrated in a moon turn.”

The milky blue eyes of the Maester looked up, almost as searching for the emotion in Jon’s face, the same emotion he heard in his voice saying her name.

“Princess Haelena is the girl in your dreams, Lord Snow?” Said the old man, his hands clasped together in his lap.

Jon looked outside the window, seeing the snow fall in delicate twirls. His hand rested on top of Ghost’s head, while the enormous beast rested his chin in his master’s knee. The lord commander didn’t want to talk about the princess. She was in the past, together with the stone walls of Winterfell, his father and lady Catelyn, Jeor Mormont and that damned crow, Ygritte and his life with the wildlings.

“I was correct, then.” Maester Aemon murmured, lost in thoughts. “I understand. I was smitten by her mother, Naerys. I was only a boy of six and ten, but she was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. She was married and that was a problem, of course. Father asked for the hand of her oldest daughter, Daena, in marriage to me, as a way of making me happy. Yet, the King Maekar refused. They hated the Targaryens, considering that they blame us for the death of Visenya’s older son, Maegor.”

His calloused hand scratched his chin, lost in memories.

“Daena was fair and beautiful, but she was not Naerys. She had the Targaryen complexion and at night all I could think of was the color of the Queen’s eyes. Eventually the time passed by, I swear a vow and became a Maester. However, in cold nights like these, I caught myself thinking about her.”

Jon, watching his friend remember his youth, blurted, without a second thought:

“I think about her. Every night.”

The old Targaryen stopped and rested still.

“Since I came here, I dream of her. She is laying by my side, brown hair over the pillow, her hands resting in my cheek. I would talk to her and tell her what I learned that day. And she would tell me stories of Dorne. I wished to kiss her. I wished to touch her. But I couldn’t move. I could only talk to her and feel her hand over my cheek.”

“They are powerful, you know. They have magic in their veins, magic that I never studied in all my years on the Citadel.” Said the Maester, his hands feeling the cold links in his chains around the neck. “What you believe was a dream, was she. Trying to reach you, talk to you.”

Jon sighted, passing his hands over his hair. The memories came back to him like fire, vivid and intense, in all their colors. He remembered the first night he spent with Ygritte, smelling her hair and felling her ass cupped between his thighs. He remembered how he dreamt of Haelena, sad eyes in her face, as she looked at the red-haired girl in his arms. She didn’t say a word, staring at them together, tears running down her cheek.

It was the last time he dreamt of her. At first, he would wait for her to come, but the days passed by, Ygritte tiring him with her soft mouth and gentle eyes. One day he stopped waiting for her, sleeping a dreamless sleep, waking tired and sorrowful. He had forgotten all he felt in the past and started to live for the future.

And now, reading her name on the letter, all those memories came back, together with the smell of her hair in his pillow, her sweet eyes, lovely smile and warm hands. If he tried enough, he could almost touch her.

He opened his eyelids, feeling tired.

“She cannot reach me. I have sworn an oath. I shall take no wife and father no children.” Mumbled the Lord Commander.

“You are now son of a king, Lord Snow.” Teased the Maester.

“Yet, I faced the old gods and I swore to live and die in my post. This is what I will do.”

Ghost started to lick his master’s hands and Jon got quieter. His wolf was his only companion, the only joy and care he would ever receive from anyone.

“I will meet her in Winterfell for the wedding. I shall be courteous with her and treat her well. She will be by Robb’s side all the time, anyway. I will return to the Wall after, with only memories and sadness. Again.” Jon grumbled, sullen.

He could still feel the spot left by Ygritte’s death, her dead weight over his arms, her lips trembling, saying “ _You know nothing, Jon Snow_ ”. He could smell the blood running down her chest, her glazed eyes watching him. He had loved her, as he was not allowed to love. He loved her, bedded her and wished to be with her, forever. He forgot his past and thought only of her in his arms, tender and sweet.

He came back to the Wall, broken and lost, clinging to those who cared for him and those damned words, that damned vow. That was the only thing that made him carry through his vale of hopelessness, knowing that he was the shield that guarded the realms of men. And now there was her, beautiful and tempestuous like the Shivering Sea, tempting him and mesmerizing him, all at once, glued by Robb’s side, a good man, but… not him. Not Jon. He was not ready to see her as his brother’s wife, seeing her face glow by the shadow of the weirwood tree, vowing her love and devotion to the wrong man.

Thanks to the old gods he would not see her in a nuptial happiness, her belly growing with Robb’s children, carrying in her arms a red-haired babe.

“Well, I’m afraid that is not the case, my Lord.” Said the Maester, reaching in his pocket a small parchment. It smelled like lavender and lemon, like the way Haelena’s hair smelled over the sheets. “Later today arrived a missive from Lady Haelena to Lord Mormont, warning him of their visit. She and the Stark girls wish to meet with her uncle Benjen and their brother Snow. Or so that was what Sam has told me.”

“They don’t know about Benjen? Or Lord Mormont?” Asked Jon, feeling rather sad about the prospect of telling his sisters about the fate of his uncle.

“I’m afraid not, My Lord.” Said Maester Aemon, sighing and resting a hand over Jon’s knees. “They are already on the way, with only a knight and some Manderly men to escort them to the castle. Don’t be too harsh on them, Jon.”

Jon smiled, feeling his heart skip a beat. She would be here with him, smiling at him, touching him…

“How could I be harsh on them, Maester Aemon? We barely know each other and it’s Arya who is going to be trouble, I tell you that.”

The old man looked lost in memories, while saying:

“My dear boy, the princess may be betrothed to your brother, but it’s you she visited in dreams. It’s you that her heart wants more than anything. What should you do with it? Shall you brake it in a thousand pieces and sent her back to Winterfell? Shall you accept her heart and love her too? Shall you refused it gently and show her that you two have no future?”

Jon scoffed, his hand scratching his grown beard and his tired eyes.

“Once you told me that that love is the bane of honor, the death of duty. Still, you ask me if I’m going to love and let her love me. Why?” Asked Jon, staring at the old man by the fire, so wrinkled and bent with the age.

The man smiled, his milky eyes glowing in the dark.

“I also said that the gods fashioned us for love. That is our great glory and tragedy. It’s up to you to choose what is going to be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! This is my first fic and I tried to create a fun and different environment, without losing the essence of the GOT books.  
> Please, excuse any english mistakes that I committed, as English is not my first language.  
> I will be posting a new chapter every week!


	7. Of Ghosts and Snow

The cold wind was blowing her thin veil, the snowflakes resting in her clothes gently. Haelena had forgotten how cold it was in the North, even clad with furs, wool and brocade. They were in the courtyard, surrounded by the strangest men in black clothes. They looked at them in awe, flocked together, as a group of animals. Ser Harry was anxious by her side, his hand resting in his blade.

“My Lady, I think we better go to Winterfell, while Lord Manderly’s men are still with us.”

“Calm down, Ser. I sent the Lord Commander a letter, informing of our trip to the Wall. He must be here to welcome us. This is most improper of him.” Said the princess, gazing at the walkway, expecting someone to show.

“My Lady, they’re all rapist and murders. I’m sure this is not a safe place to stand alone. We must leave. Now.” Exclaimed Ser Harry, grabbing her arm.

“Wait!” She blurted. Looking at the men gathered, she screamed:

“I’ve come to see the Lord Commander. He is expecting me! I gather he’s named Jeor Mormont.”

Nothing.

“My name is Haelena Zaldriz, princess of Valyria. I came with Lady Sansa Stark and Lady Arya Stark to see their uncle Benjen Stark and their brother Jon Snow.”

Whispers emerged from the black surface of men, anxious and alarmed. However, no one approached the white princess.

She pressed her fingers on her stomacher, grabbing the intricate embroidery between her digits. She could feel Ser Harry’s fingers inside her arm, pressing in mute demand. She tried again, her voice failing with fear.

“I demand you to call for Lord Mormont. I am his guest and I shall be treated as such, with respect by the Lord Commander and the men of the Night’s Watch.”

A voice over the walkway answered.

“Jeor Mormont is dead.”

She felt the fingers of Ser Harry tightening his grasp, urging her to move. She looked up to the gallery, searching for the owner of the voice. All she could see was the men moving to their sides, opening the way to someone.

“And who is the new Lord Commander? I ought to speak with him.” She demanded, her voice trembling with fear.

“It’s I.” Said the voice, leaving the mass of black men, coming towards them.

Haelena felt her heart skip a beat, as she saw Jon Snow in front of her. He was older now, a man, with his dark curls gathered like a halo, a thick and dark beard cladding his face. He had scars scattered around, a long one over his left eye, crossing his eyebrow. He was taller than he used to, his body stronger than ever. His shoulders were broad, like the great wall behind him, his neck large and sun kissed.

He came towards the party, Arya throwing herself in his arms, giving him a tight hug. Sansa was beside her, waiting to properly greet her half-brother. All Haelena could feel was her heart beating against her chest, her knees growing weak, the hand of Ser Harry in her back, helping her to stand upright.

“Sansa.” Said the Lord Commander, with a little smirk in his face as his sister made a small courtesy.

He looked at the princess, her hands clasped in her knight’s arms, her face blushed in pink tones. He could see her blood flow pulsing in her neck when he approached her. She was more beautiful than she ever was, with her large eyes, full mouth and luscious hair. She was a woman grown, the curve of her breasts showing under the bodice of her gown, her waist so thin and her hips full. He wondered, looking at her trembling in Ser Harry’s arms, what she was like under the furs and the thought made him blush.

“Your Grace.” He said, kneeing in the snow, resting his sword in front of her. He looked down to her feet, small and gracious in a fur boot.

“So…Lord Jon.” Haelena said in a whisper. He gave a small smile at her, the knight under her sovereign. “I was right.”

He smiled broadly, getting up and putting his sword in his hilt. He spent the last three years with that girl in his head, her dove eyes watching him, as she said that he was a Lord to her. That smile made her heart beat even faster and she thought she would faint right here and there.

“Yes, you were. And now, as Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, I welcome thee to our house.” He took her hand, clasped in Ser Harry’s arm, and tenderly kissed it.

“My Lord.” Said Ser Harry, eyes gazing at the Lord Commander. He was still doubtful about their surroundings, fearing their outcome and the capacity of one knight to protect all three girls and their handmaid.

“Oh, calm down, Harry. It’s not like you’re the only one that knows how to use a sword in here.” Said Arya by his side, turning Needle in her hands.

“I see you still have your sword.” Said Jon, taking the fine weapon of her hand and testing in the air. Still light and delicate, a fine piece for a fine lady. “Hope you’ve learned a trick or two with this.”

“You can say this. Maybe I can show you later today.” Said Arya, smiling at Sansa in mischievous way. It was so strange, Haelena thought, seeing the two sisters so close. They used to hate each other when they were young and now… They were like a pack of conspirators.

“Not today, Arya. I have to talk to you three, first. In my solar, if it’s not a problem.” Jon offered his arm to Haelena, who took it without thinking. Suddenly there it was, pressed against her skin, strong and warm as she remembered. “Maybe tomorrow morning?”

“It will be a pleasure.” Arya smirked and followed them through the archways and the wood passages, arriving at the Lord Commander’s solar.

Jon’s solar, Haelena sighed, heart beating fast in her chest.

— —

“What do you want to say to us, Jon? I hope that is nothing serious.” Said Sansa, sitting by Jon’s side in a small chair. A huge mass appeared by the door, scaring Ser Harry right away. He pushed his sword out of his hilt, preparing to defend the girls.

“No need for this, Ser. It’s only my wolf, Ghost.” Jon called for the beast, his tail wagging in true happiness seeing all the new faces. He sniffed girl after girl, munching at Arya’s bloomers and licking Sansa’s hand.

“Hello.” Haelena put her hand in front of the creature mouth, making poor Ser Harry nearly faint. “Do you remember me?”

The animal sniffed with care, resting his huge head in her knees. He had grown, being a little bigger than half a horse, with strong legs and thighs. His fur was thick between her gloved fingers, warm and tender.

“I think he does. Where is Lady and Nymeria?” He asked, remembering the two large beast that were Arya’s and Sansa’s companions.

“Princess Haelena thought better to leave them at Winterfell, together with Greywind, Summer and Shaggydog. The south is not a place to a have direwolf roaming around.” Said Sansa, stretching her hand to scratch between Ghost’s ears.

“She is right. They would never survive down south. They’re safer in the North, with their brothers.” Jon explained, trying to find the right words. “And that’s what I need to say, I believe. About safety, brothers and the North.”

All the girls raised their heads, looking at him, with attention. He breathed slowly and said:

“Uncle Benjen is missing. Lord Mormont had sent him on a patrol to find Ser Royce. But he never came back.” He paused, waiting for the girls to talk something, anything, but they were in stunned silence, waiting. “He sent patrols to find him, but no sign at all. Many moons later we found the body of his companions… Not a sign of him, though. We went beyond the Wall, then. To find him, you see.”

“He was nowhere to be found.” Murmured Sansa, her beautiful milky white skin pale with grief. “He is dead.”

“We believe so. But I will find him, Sansa. Or his body, at least. So he could rest by our family grave.” Jon said softly.

“That is why you’re Lord Commander now, Lord Snow?” Asked Haelena, eyes scanning him. “Lord Mormont died trying to find Ser Benjen?”

“Aye, my princess. That’s part of the story.” He said, eyes staring at her.

“Will you tell us the whole story, my Lord?” She asked and Jon felt the urge to correct her, as he did many times before. _Not a Lord, my princess. A bastard only._ However, now he was indeed a Lord.

“Maybe. If Arya behaves well.” He laughed, seeing the outraged look at his sister’s face.

“What are you implying?” Demanded the girl, watching with a furrowed brow her sister give a side smile with the corner of her mouth.

“If you think that I’m implying anything, you must have something to imply yourself.” Said Jon, with a little smirk in his face. Haelena heart ached with the memories of him under the moonlight, his hand resting gently over hers. “Now, unfortunately you will have to share a room, as we may be bellow strength, but our men remain loud and improper. I will send you supper and a warm beverage. Sleep well and tomorrow I will show you the grounds.”

The girls got up as the Lord Commander got up as well, leading the way to the door. They bid him their goodnights and before they all walk away, being followed by a gloomy Ser Harry, still suspicious about the huge wolf that followed them, Haelena paused under the door frame. She turned to Lord Snow, his arm behind the door, waiting to close it.

“If it is not a problem, I wish to speak to you. Privately.” She whispered, lips pale as the snow outside.

“I am afraid that right now it is not possible, Your Grace.” He said, blinking fast, looking stunned by her boldness.

“Later, if you will, then.” She tried again, taking a step closer to him, her furs brushing at the door frame.

“Unfortunately, I’m not available today. I’m a busy man, you see…” He started to say, being interrupted by the tiny girl in front of him, maroon eyes scanning his face.

“Well. When, then? Tomorrow evening?” She pressed, taking a step forward towards him.

“I cannot say. I will send you a message when I’m available.” He started to close the door and felt her hand being place at the side, to stop him.

“You can’t run away from me, Lord Snow.” Said Haelena, trying to push her way through the chamber, being stopped by the huge mass of Jon’s body.

“I’m not running away from you, child.” He exclaimed, trying to push back the urge to take her small body in his arms and lay her in his rug.

“You are. And I will tell you that: when I need to speak to the Lord Commander in private, I will speak to him in private. You cannot hide and you cannot run, Jon Snow. You better meet me, tomorrow evening, up at the Wall.” She hissed, angry.

“Or what?” He teased, his brows raised in a joyful manner and that little smirk in his face. The smirk she so adored.

Seeing that she didn’t have an answer to that, she remained in silence, turning at her heels and walking towards the group.

— —

“You didn’t say a word, sweetheart.” Said Lady Sansa, pausing the brush in her hand. She looked at Haelena sitting in front of her, long and luscious brown hair falling at her back and eyes wide open looking at the window.

The girls were getting ready for bed. Arya was already passed out in her little cot, hair in a tight ponytail, her body wrapped in the sheets. Sansa was almost ready, her long copper hair in a plait over her shoulder, snug in her flannel nightgown. With only a handmaid for the three of them, she was used to brush Haelena’s chocolate hair, talking to her in hushed tones about the future, the past and the present.

“I don’t feel like talking. It’s too cold in here.” She said, hugging her body with her goosebumped arms.

“I will ask for more covers. Maybe a warm brick under the sheets, what do you think about it?” Sansa was braiding the long and thick locks. Before she considered getting up, a gentle knock came from the door.

Haelena found her shawl nearby, covering her modesty, despite the high collar and long sleeves of the nightgown. Sansa walked up to the door, talking in hushed tones.

“Who is it?”

Out there came the soft voice of Ser Harry, still guarding the girls.

“The Maester, my lady. He wishes to… well… meet with Princess Haelena.”

“It’s too late, we are ready to bed. This will not be proper.” Said Sansa, putting a hand in the door knob.

“I believe this will not be a problem, Lady Sansa.”

She opened the door, finding by Ser Harry’s side an old man, wrinkled and curved with the weight of his heavy chains. Soon she noticed his milky eyes, seeing only darkness through his lenses.

“Please, come in.” She said to the man, who smiled to her briefly and walked with practice to the room. “Ser Harry, I think it’s better for you wait here… While… This happens.” She pointed to the Maester, who found a chair and sat with care.

Haelena approached him, her hands tight around the shawl, looking at Sansa, without knowing what to do.

“You may come close, my dear.” Said the man, motioning to her go by his side. Haelena was close, now, feeling the wood of his chair with her nude fingers.

“We welcome you to our chamber, ser. May I ask you why do you came so late?” She asked, gulping in doubt.

“I don’t know when it’s late or when it’s early, my dear. I wake up and go to sleep in darkness. Come closer, let me touch your face.” He asked gently, raising his hand in search of her features.

She took a step back, trying to get away from his fingers, wrinkled and thin. She didn’t want to hurt the poor man.

“No, ser. It will hurt you. I can only talk to you.”

He lifted his milky eyes, searching for her voice, his hand raised still.

“You will not hurt me, Lady Haelena. As I’m blood of the dragon as well.”

Haelena felt her feet go towards him without thinking, taking his hand in hers and placing over her eyes. He was warm against her skin and she sighted in relief. It has been three years since she felt the warm touch of someone else’s skin, on a night of full moon at Winterfell.

He passed his finger gently on her nose, her eyes, her brow, her lips, her cheeks and her chin. He asked the colors of her eyes and her hair and smiled.

“You look like your mother.” He said, caressing her cheeks with his frail hands. “Smile to me, my dear.”

She felt the corners of her mouth turning upwards, as he slid his fingers over her lips, touching gently her dimple.

“You have the same smile as well.” He took away his hand and Haelena kneeled in front of him, waiting for him to speak again. “How is Naerys? And Maekar? Your siblings? Lady Visenya still lives?”

“Yes, my lord.” She answered, her lips dry in her mouth. “All of them are well. All married and happy. My lady grandmother still terrifies anyone who dares to cross her path.”

“I’m no lord, my princess. Only a Maester.” He said, resting his calloused hands over her head.

“You’re a Targaryen, my lord. The last of them.” She whispered, imagining how was this man, when tall and fair, in his younger years.

“You know that’s not true.” He sighted, touching gently her chin, making her head go upwards, looking directly into his pale blue eyes.

“You had news of the Dragon Queen?” Asked Sansa, her brows turned in worry.

“No, my lady. We don’t receive many news from abroad, specially from lost Targaryens.” He murmured, as Sansa started a long recollection of the Dragon Queen’s deeds, the death of Viserys and the three dragons she was rumored to have.

When she finished, Maester Aemon sighed, looking down.

“It’s a terrible thing, to be a Targaryen, alone in the world.”

“Do you pity her?” Sansa asked, her eyes scanning the old master face.

“Sansa, please. Let him be.” Begged Haelena, watching closely her new friend. “You are Daenery’s uncle?”

“My dear, my name is Aemon Targaryen, son of Maekar, namesake to your own father. Brother to Aegon V, uncle to Jaehaerys II, great uncle to Aerys II.” He had a smile in his face, eyes lost in memories.

“You lived a long life. A great one, may I say.” Haelena said. She felt sad for the old man, left forgotten on the Wall, without family by his side. Or at least… “You are tired, my lord. Tomorrow we will speak again.”

He got up and took the princess hands in his.

“Say to your mother that you met young Aemon, son of Maekar. The boy at the Citadel, the one that would make her colorful potions when she passed by the dungeons. She used to say that I was like a small cat, my clicking chains behind me everywhere I went.” He laughed quietly, a dry sound like the plains of Dorne. “Say to her that I became a Maester and went to the Wall. Beg her to come and see me, please, my dear. Please.”

She agreed meekly, placing her hand in his back and helping him through the door. He smiled at her and nodded to the wall behind him, walking careful and short steps, in a slow manner.

“He loved her.” Said Sansa by Haelena’s side, her cold hand resting in her shoulder.

“He did.” Haelena whispered. “But love is the death of duty. And still, he remains, centuries old and alone, serving his king.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! This is my first fic and I tried to create a fun and different environment, without losing the essence of the GOT books.  
> THANK YOU for all the comments, kudos, bookmarks and hits! It has been an amazing experience and I'm so thrilled to share this story with you guys!  
> Please, excuse any english mistakes that I committed, as English is not my first language.  
> I will be posting a new chapter every friday! Yay!


	8. Of Walls and Northerner Lights

“Arya, are you sure of this?” Said Jon, his hands clasped on his sword’s hilt.

“Of course! Are you afraid?” Said Arya, turning Needle in her hand, joking. “I promise I’ll be gentle.”

This made the crowd of men cheer. There was mostly black cladded man, brothers of the Night’s Watch. However, there were some who wore light grey or brown fur, the hair adorned with braids and beads, long and thick. Their beards were fuller than Jon’s, their eyes bluer than the sky. Many were red headed, donning green eyes like the palm leaves at Dorne.

They were free-folk, or so she learned from Samwell Tarly, a nice and intelligent young man, devoted to his Lord Commander. He loved Jon and thought highly of him, claiming how brilliant he was protecting the Wall from the free-folk attack and how merciful he was, letting them stay in Castle Black while preparing the other castles to them. They would receive food and shelter from the Night’s Watch and, in exchange, they would help protect Westeros from… Them. The decaying corpses that roamed outside the realm.

She heard a cheer from the crowd and saw Lord Snow on the ground, his little sister sitting on his chest, her little sword pressed on his neck.

“I want a rematch!” He claimed, taking her off with an impulse, shacking the dirt and snow from his clothes.

“You can have as many rematches you want, Jon.” She laughed as she gave him back his sword, thrown away during the fight. “But I doubt that you are going to defeat me.”

Arya took a quick step towards him. She moved with grace and swiftness, her sword tenderly touching Longclaw in quick movements, making Jon take many step backs. He wielded his blade, his movements more slow but harsher, the muscles prominent under his shirt.

Jon defended Arya’s blows with accuracy, rounding her with care and patience, while she ran around him, turning and twisting, Needle just a ray of silver light in her hands. His hair kept falling on his vision and every time that happened, Arya would gently hit him in his abdomen or his muscular thighs.

Haelena placed her hand inside her pocket and felt it, twisting around her finger. She watched anxiously the fighters, waiting for them to break apart. When Jon took several steps back, avoiding a series of attacks, she screamed:

“Wait! Wait a minute!”

The brawlers looked at her, as the princess came to them, her right hand pressed in a fist. She came towards Jon, opening her palm and showing the white ribbon laying tidily in her hand.

“May I?” She asked.

He nodded and gulped, as she got to his back, sliding her hands through his hair, combing with her fingers and gathering on her fist. With a swift motion, she looped the ribbon around the mass of curls and tied with a knot.

“Thank you.” He whispered, as she left the field. She didn’t say a word, waiting for them to resume the fight.

It was easier now, as he could see the small movement that Arya made when she decided where to go. With every movement, he was a step forward, blowing their swords together until she tripped, and with his shoulder, he pushed his sister down, placing Longclaw, near as broad as Arya’s neck, on the curve of her jaw.

“You got lucky!” Arya claimed, as the black brothers cheered his Lord Commander and Jon helped her get up.

“You need to accept your defeat, Arya. Some days of practice will make you defeat me again. Maybe this will cheer you up.” Said Jon with a brow, giving Longclaw to his pageboy, pushing the ribbon out of his hair and placing it gently on the princess gloved hand.

She looked at it, stunned, and, as he walked away, she pushed his hand back.

“Tonight, my lord?”

But he didn’t answer, walking faster as he tried to increase the distance between the two.

— —

“We need to find Ned Stark.” Cersei said, her long, blond hair flowing behind her back. She held a goblet of wine in her hand and watched through the window the flux of boats and vessels by the harbor.

“King Eddard now, Cersei.” Said Lord Tywin, pausing his reading of a letter and looking at his daughter. “And no, we don’t need to find him.”

Cersei was beautiful, her green eyes shining under the sunlight, her hair so soft and bright, like Lannister gold. She was tall and graceful, born to be a queen. If she stood quiet enough, with her lids closed, she even could be a benevolent and kind one. The eyes, however, shone with her true identity: a cruel and cold-hearted hag.

“He fled the dead King’s chambers! In the middle of the night! With some notion of independence fixed in his mind!” She exclaimed, putting down her chalice without care, wine spilling over the table, red as blood.

“King Robert died due to an accident. Your brother was by the King’s side when he announced the northerner freedom. There’s nothing we can do at this point.” Her father sighed, shacking a parchment stained with liquor.

“There must be something! Anything! The North was part of my lands!” She screamed, her face red and choleric. “He may be out there now, with his wild men, planning to attack my kingdom and steal my crops, my farms!”

That made Lord Tywin enrage, getting up bluntly, taking quick steps towards his daughter, that stood still, chin up and back straight.

“It is not your land. It is not your crops. You may still be called Queen, but is your son who rules. And he is the worst in it. So yes, I can let you interfere in some subjects, but I only do this to make my life easier.” He stopped, icy eyes over her. “And you are not making my life easier right now.”

She gulped, her cheeks turning a bright red, her father so calm and cold by her side.

“You are chasing a ghost, an honorable man, that is going to rule his lands in peace and pay no mind to us. If we befriend him, he may, as well, help us with your good brother.”

Cersei’s face got paler as she thought about Stannis Baratheon, who claimed that his niece and nephews weren’t Robert’s sons, but products of incest and adultery. The Queen’s and the Kingslayer’s children. He had even fancied himself the title of King Stannis Baratheon, claiming the Iron Throne to him.

“I have to make alliances and rebuild an army. An army that suffered several losses at the Blackwater Bay. The same army that I have to prepare for another battle to come, feed and shelter. The army that I have to transport. And. It. Takes. Gold.” He paused, feeling his coolness leave him temporally, breathing slowly to regain his composure.

“I don’t care what you do with your life, my daughter. But if you meddle with the kingdom business, I will marry you to the first Iron Man I see in front of me and I will ship you to that cold and humid land, do you understand me?”

The Queen remained in silence, her breath short and her hands clasped on the table.

“I will say it again and I will wait for an answer. Do you understand?” Lord Tywin said, leaning over Cersei, making her flinch.

“Yes.” She mumbled, his face so close to her…

“Yes what?” He took his finger and pressed on her cheeks, watching as she tried to say the words.

“Yes, Lord Father.”

And he left her trembling, sitting graciously on his chair and returning his gaze to the letter.

— —

The wind was blowing over her, making her hair twist around under her fur hood. She has been waiting patiently, since the end of supper, for Lord Snow. Men walked by her, bowing and talking amenities, inviting her for a mug of beer or a bit of lamb. They would ask if she wanted someone to escort her back to her chambers or call her knight, but she would gently decline.

Ser Harry came time after time, begging her to come with him, declaring the weather too cold for her, the men too drunk, the Wall too high. However, she declined as well. Now, with only her and a sleepy watcher many steps away from her, she was considering to go back, to her warm and dark room.

Lord Snow, Jon, didn’t want to talk to her, as it seems.

When she turned around, she saw him, standing some steps behind her, his curls tied in a low ponytail, like the one she did earlier that day. He was so handsome, especially under the moonlight, his face serious and sharp. She could barely breath.

“You came.” She said, waiting as he approached her.

“Aye.” He paused, looking at her and smirking. “Someone told me that when the princess of Valyria wishes to speak with the Lord Commander, she will speak to him, no matter what.”

He breathed slowly, trying to find the right words.

“What do you wish to say, Your Grace?” He asked, looking at the northerner lights so far away, tinting the night sky with color.

“What happened beyond the Wall?” She questioned, hardly breathing.

He turned to her, stunned.

“You don’t know? I thought that you saw all and knew all. That was what Lord Stark told us, anyway.”

She looked surprised, her cheeks very red under the colorful lights.

“Well, yes. I see things. In the Fire. Of the past, the present or the future. I need Light to see it and when a place is surrounded by darkness… It gets harder.” She answered meekly, eyes darting towards him.

“So, you know.” He watched her eyelashes sprinkled with glistening snow. “About the Others.”

She gulped, trying to make her lungs fill with the cold air, expanding and giving her strength.

“I don’t know their names. But I’ve seen them, the corpses walking around behind the Wall. It’s hard to see exactly what they are or who they answer for. I just know that they are dangerous: they are surrounded by darkness and fear. Everything out there is doomed.”

He came closer to her, wishing to embrace her in his arms and warm her with the heat from his body. He paused, shaking his head to clear his thoughts.

“You are right. We are in danger.” Jon looked at the dancing lights, thinking about the decaying corpses coming to life. “I need men and provisions. The winter is finally coming and we need to do something about it.” He paused, watching her again.

“He saw something in me, the old bear. He invited me to go with them, you know. To search Benjen.” He looked at her. “We went out there, passing through the Craster’s Keep and going through the Fist of the First Man and the Skirling Pass, where I met Ygritte.”

She could see the longing printed in his face, the memories coming back to him.

“And then we were attacked at the Fist by wildlings. I had to kill Qhorin, to be accepted as one of them, as he commanded. I still remember his screams.”He paused, adding: “I would dream of you, all the time. It seemed as you were there, by my side. Faint, but present.”

Jon shook his head, looking at the small girl by his side.

“I was designated to travel South, to go to the Gift. And Ygritte was there and, suddenly, you were not. Not anymore.”

The silence took over them, only the wind blowing in their ears.

“I missed you.” Said Haelena, biting her lips and regretting what she had said.

“It was you, wasn’t it? Why you went away?” He demanded, furrowing his brows.

She locked her hands in front of her, her lips trembling, feeling the tears in her eyes. Lord, she didn’t want to cry in front of him.

“Because I thought you didn’t want my company anymore.” Seeing the protest leaving his lips, she added. “You were in love with her, don’t deny it.”

He paused, scanning her eyes.

“Aye. I was.”

Jon heard her take the longest of breaths, taking a step away from the edge.

“What happened to her?” She questioned, turning around to not see his face.

Jon declared, taking a step towards her trembling body, watching the white skirts fly around her.

“That day, we slept together to share the warmth of our bodies. I never…” He stopped, his words failing him. “I couldn’t… I only had you in my mind. I cared for you, I lov…” He paused. “But you vanished and she was there. And yes, I learnt to love her and she loved me. And then… She died. In my arms. If she wasn’t killed by my men, she would have killed me.”

She looked at him, pity in her eyes.

“I’m sorry.” Haelena whispered, her tongue tasting the snowflakes on her lips.

Jon looked down to her, tiny and beautiful under the northerner lights. Her hood had gone down and her thick chocolate hair was filled with ice crystals.

“I’ve done my duty to the kingdom.” He looked at the vast horizon in front of him. “You asked about my time beyond the wall. I never told it to anyone.” He said, taking a step closer to her, feeling her furs brushing over his doublet. 

Jon was tall and handsome, so close to her that she could feel his warmth through his clothes, reaching her breasts and pinching her nipples. She breathed slowly, hugging her trembling body with her own arms.

“Now, tell me what you’re hidding.” His voice was soft and she almost couldn’t hear over the wind.

She looked at him, her lips so red, her hands tying in his. There was only one thing, so true and so secret that she never dared to speak out loud. To anyone or anything.

“I want you.” She started, pausing for a moment, gaining courage to continue her flow of emotions, that darted from her mouth towards the starry sky.

“I want you so much I can rarely breath when you are near me. I want you since the day we locked eyes at the courtyard of Winterfell. And when I had to leave you, when you were in Ygritte’s arms…” Haelena tasted Ygritte’s name in her tongue and it was sour. “I thought that I would never be happy again.”

She halted, scared, eyes fixed on his. There was static in the cold air, the type of electricity that run in our veins and make our vulnerable hearts beat faster and harder, that shivers the skin and tingles the tongue.

Slowly, waiting for his stunned reaction, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed his warm cheek, lingering tenderly with her lips. She could hear his breath trembling in his throat, as his hands clasped around her waist, lips kissing delicately, going towards the corner of his mouth.

Jon suddenly was alive again, his blood flowing through his veins, as he grabbed her in his arms and opened his mouth to her, licking her lips and urging in a muted plea for her to open herself to him.

Haelena opened her mouth and explored with her tongue. He tasted of salt and beer and… something else. Something she never tasted before. Jon hold her in his strong arms, kissing her like she never been kissed before, tasting her tongue and smelling her sweet fragrance of lavender and lemon, overlapped by cinders and smoke.

All he could think of was how sweet it was, to hear that she wanted him since the first moment that he started to want her too, to have her in his arms… How he wished he could spread his cloak over the ice, lay her under him, rise her skirts and spread her thighs, taking her under the stars and claiming as his.

They were there to be happy, he knew. She was his as he was hers, until the end of the days…

_Love is death of duty, my boy._

Deep in his mind, getting louder and louder, was Maester Aemon words.

_The gods fashioned us for love, my boy. This is our great glory and tragedy._

He parted his lips from her, breathing the cold night air, trying to think straight, trying to take away Maester Aemon’s words from his head. But she was kissing his neck, tenderly, brushing her soft lips against the sensitive skin of his nape.

_Choose what is going to be, my boy._

And there was Jeor Mormont, huge in his dark furs, his white beard stained with tobacco.

_I trusted you, Jon Snow. As my heir and the Night’s Watch leader._

Softly he could hear the thunder of men’s voices around them, chanting:

_Night gathers, and now my watch begins._

_It shall not end until my death._

_I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children._

_I pledge my life and honor to the Night's Watch, for this night and all the nights to come._

Jon gasped, taking, against his will, his hands of Haelena, leaving her trembling and disheveled. Her lips were red and moist, her cheeks were pinker than ever and her eyelids were heavy with lust.

“I can’t.” He said, taking a step back.

She looked confused, like she had woken up from a dream.

“What do you mean? You want me, I want you…” She started to say, but was interrupted.

“You are to marry my brother.” The Lord Commander passed his hands through his hair, taking of some curls from the secure grip of the ribbon.

“I have not wed him yet. You can ask King Eddard. You are his son, he likes me, he owns me his life! We can be together, you and I.” She sounded lost and broken and Jon wished to embrace her in his arms and comfort her. “Everything is different now, Jon.”

“I’m bound to my vows. I shall take no wife, father no children, hold no lands.” He stopped, looking at her, as the tears in her eye left traces in her cheeks. “I shall live and die at my post.”

She looked stunned, her eyes darting around as he left her behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thanks to everyone that keeps reading and interacting with this fic! More than a 1000 hits, guys! Thank you, thank you!
> 
> Let's talk about this chapter, shall we?
> 
> Jon having his ass being kicked by Arya, Haelena meeting Sam and the Wildlings and Jon donning his ponytail look (which I adore) made this chapter so adorable, I don't even have words.
> 
> Cersei is an amazing character, so is Lord Tywin and I loved writing this scene. She will be trouble for the northerners soon or later and I'm shacking with anxiety just thinking about what she has in mind!
> 
> Haelena and Jon finally acknowledging their feelings for one another!! The kiss!!! Hurray!! Of course Jon will be confused about his feelings, about his past with Ygritte, his vow to the Wall and his loyalty to his family. And Haelena was left with a broken heart, poor thing! However, she usually finds her way and achieves everything she wants!
> 
> Will they find a way to be together as their hearts desire?
> 
> Please, excuse any english mistakes that I committed, as English is not my first language.
> 
> I will be posting a new chapter every friday! Yay!


	9. Of vows and promises

Haelena returned to her chamber alone, laying on the bed still in her gown and waking up only because Sansa was there, stroking her hair gently and asking what was wrong. She spent that morning crying in her good sister’s lap, with Arya watching her with a bemused face, while Sansa shooed her away.

The other days she followed the tall girl around, stitching with some of the free-folk and talking to some of the guards. She scanned her surroundings, trying to find the black head full of curls or the giant white wolf, but neither were seen by her own eyes.

The free-women were kind to her, even though she was gloomy and sad all the time. When they discovered that she was a bride to be married in less than a moon turn, they entered in a stitching frenzy, sewing and embroidering linen, cotton, wool and brocade. They would mend tears and holes and trim her clothing with furs and lace.

By the end of the week, the young princess of the free-folk, Val, gifted her with mittens, a cloak and a dress, made with a black cotton fabric, used in the Night’s Watch clothing. The mittens and the cloak were trimmed with dark grey rabbit fur and soft black wool, to maintain the warmth.

The dress had an old-fashioned style, in black cotton, a high waist just under the breasts and a square neckline. It was a little short on the sleeves and too long at the length, but she could manage it with ease. She said her thanks, complimenting the delicate embroidery made by the princess and the beautiful fur that trimmed her gown, maintaining a smile in her face, even though she wished to cry.

They were going away the next day, with Lord Snow and some of his men by their side, escorting the princesses to Winterfell. Sam told her that they were going to stay at the castle only for the wedding and, then, they would leave. It let her imagining the silence between her and the Lord Commander, the gentle words he would say as she walked to her husband and the soft bow of his head as he begged his farewells, preparing to leave and never see her again.

Sitting by the fireplace, her trembling body in a flannel nightgown covered by her cotton shawl, her freezing toes inside wool stockings, she blamed herself for being too impulsive. She dared to kiss him, imagining that he would kiss her back. She even imagined that he would leave his vows and go with her to Winterfell, asking his father her hand in marriage.

In her head, they would wed before the Weirwood tree and celebrate their union for the Dragonrider. They would live in happiness and joy, with plenty of children and he by her side. By the time he got old and tired and the fire within him died, she would go back to Valyria and live the remaining of her days in sweet reminiscence.

However, that was not going to happen. He refused her and walked away, letting her all alone on the Wall. He would never leave his vows, she now knew. Even though he kissed her with passion and grabbed her like she would vanish under his fingers.

She looked at the window, taking away her eyes from the flames. She had spent her last days staring at the fire, trying to see her future. Was she supposed to give up and go to Winterfell as planned? Was she to persist? Would Jon make his mind and claim her? But the fire was quieter than ever and she didn’t see anything from the blaze.

She wished someone could guide her. She felt so alone and afraid, the sadness in her chest was more than she could bare. She wished to speak to Maester Aemon about her anguish, but he was vowed to the Night’s Watch as well and would never allow Jon to break his promise. She wished to speak to Sansa, that always could see the whole problem and its consequences. But Haelena was to marry her brother and would never approve her relationship with the bastard.

Arya was too worried about fights and weaponry to even care with whom she would marry. Probably she would say to stay with Jon… knowing no better.

She wondered what her mother would say.

Certainly, she would beg Haelena to stay true to her promised. She never liked the idea of breaking vows, even if the intentions behind them are good and pure.

However, she said to her once that if she saw the opportunity to love and be loved, she should grab it without thinking. Her mother was a romantic through and through, with the kindest of hearts and the sweetest of smiles.

_My child, there is no need to break your promise._

She almost could hear faintly in her ears.

_Neither does he._

She straighted her back, the thought already in her mind. Now she knew what to do. What she needed to do, to be happy again, to be full again.

She looked around, watching the girls sleeping in their tiny beds, eyes firmly closed and a soft breath leaving their bodies.

Carefully, she got up, embracing her shawl and taking small steps towards the door. She opened it, looking scared and mistrustful. Was she right in doing this?

Without looking back, she took a step towards the hall, going to the Lord Commander’s chambers.

— —

After meeting Haelena on the Wall, Jon spent the other days avoiding her like the plague. He was up early in the morning, going through his business with eagerness, breaking his fast in the peace of his own chamber. Avoiding Arya was a lot trickier, as the young girl was restless, demanding him to fight her in any chance she could get, cornering him in meetings and inspections.

Now, all his belongings were ready, packed with care by the side of his room, his best clothes and cloaks, food and wine and the presents to the newlyweds. Robb would like the nice and sharp dagger that Jon had asked to be made. It was a nice work, with dragon glass trimmed on the handle and a beautiful handicraft over the blade.

He had in his hands the gift to the bride. He avoided thinking about it since the kiss, but, alas, he had to order something.

Val had come to him, the last day, with the gems in a cloth. She said to him, with tears in her clear blue eyes, that she was worried about the Valyrian princess. So sad, she said, so quiet. She had mended her clothes and sew her a new dress, with mittens and a furred cloak, but something remained not right.

And then, she remembered the gems, given to her by Dalla, her sister, in her dying bed. They were small but shiny, red like Haelena’s lips after he parted their kiss. Val gave the small package, asking him to use them as a gift to the sad princess, hopping this would cheer her up.

He thanked her and gave to Vernan, the smith of the free-folk that was designated as the new armorer. When the blond man asked what he wished to be made, he only said that was a present to a future queen, so it must be fit for royalty:

A beautiful circlet, made of dragon glass and Mance Raider’s red diamonds.

Royalty indeed, Jon thought, tracing with his thumb the gentle up and down of the dragon glass, the jewels glistening by the fireplace. He imagined it in Haelena’s forehead, gently resting in her chestnut hair, glistening through the locks as the sun shine upon her. It was a fine gift for a future Queen, but it would not make her happy.

He had broken her heart and, now, there was nothing he could do to mend it back.

He heard a soft knock coming from the door. It was incredibly late and he worried if something was wrong. Maybe a drunkard fell from the Wall, again. Or Ghost came back from his hunt injured. The girls…

His heart skipped a beat, thinking that something could have happened with the girls. He knew they could have stayed in more secure quarters, away from the men. If Sansa and Arya were somehow injured, Queen Catelyn would have him killed.

And if something happened to Haelena… Jon would make sure that he was killed properly.

Getting up and placing the circlet by the table, he raised the clasp from the door. There was the princess, shrouded by a heavy shawl, her hair down in a long braid, her feet in wool socks. He did not had time to demand to her what she was doing in his room, so late, as she stormed through the door and rested uneasy by the other side of his bed.

The chilling night air came through the open exit and, without thinking, Jon closed it with a thud. The sound startled Haelena, that looked scared, with her eyes wide open and her cheeks flushed. She grasped tighter her shawl over her tiny body and waited for him to speak.

“What in the seven hells were you thinking?” Jon exclaimed, taking a step forward. “You are an unmarried maid in a bachelor’s room in the middle of the night. If someone knew about this, they would be claiming for my head!”

“You don’t need to brake your vow.” She said in a heartbeat.

He looked astonished at her.

“What?”

She took a deep breath and slipped her shawl to the floor. Haelena was wearing a simple flannel nightgown, with a high collar and long sleeves, ending by her ankles. Her socks were thick and very worn, having a small hole over her toes.

“You don’t need to break your vow. Neither do I.” She took the ribbon clasping her hair in a braid, combing it with her fingers, the locks passing by her shoulders and resting on her back.

“What you are doing?” Jon asked, coming towards his side of the bed, trying to take a respectful distance from the deranged princess. “Your Grace, I must insist…”

“You will take no wife, as I will marry Robb.” She paused, lowering to take a sock and placing it neatly over the bedside table. “You will father no children, as all of my children will be Robb’s, due to our marriage.” She took the other sock, twisting it in her fingers.

“So, what are you doing here? Tempting me? Showing me what I will never have?” Jon felt his anger leaving his body, as he saw the girl placing the other sock on the furniture, her hands climbing to the neckline of her gown, undoing the loop with a tug.

“No.” She said, undoing the loops on the sleeves and gathering the gown in her hands. “I’m giving it to you.”

She pulled the nightgown over her head, placing it on the floor with the shawl. Jon looked at her anxious face, eyes darting over her wide eyes, her blazing cheeks, rosy lips. He watched her throat swallow hard over her pale skin, the nice curve of her shoulders. He looked at her breasts, paler than he ever thought was possible, her nipples round and rosy as her lips. She had a tiny waist and full hips, with a mount of chestnut locks adorning her entrance, culminating long and smooth legs.

His mouth was dry and he felt hard watching her naked as her name-day by his bed. She had goosebumps all over her skin and he wished to slid his hands over them, to warm her.

“This is not right.” Jon said. “You think you are being very bright, to dismiss our vows like that…”

“I’m not dismissing anything. I know what we are bound to. I can’t be your wife, I can’t be the mother of your children.” She came towards him, her hand gently laying in front of his tunic. He never felt so alive. “I can only give you my body.”

“You don’t have to do this…” Said Lord Snow, his hands gently cupping her cheeks, making those maroon eyes stare back at him.

“I want to.”

And, without thinking, he placed a hand over her bottom, pulling her closer and taking her lips in his.

— —

When Haelena felt Jon’s lips on her, so warm and tender, she was certain that she was doomed. Her heart beat fast in her chest, making her legs weak with desire and her senses erratic. She could barely brush her hands through the fabric of his tunic, her fingers getting stuck in the loops, being unable to undress him.

His hands were all over, grasping and caressing her back, her bottom, her breasts and her face. He started to kiss her throat and she felt her legs giving in, his strong arms taking her with care. In a swift motion, she was on the bed, the weight of his body over her, his beard scratching her delicate skin.

He left her trembling body, watching her with wide eyes, as he loosened the loops of his tunic, taking it of carelessly. His body was harder and stronger, the muscles very visible under his skin. The view of his masculine body made her heart skip a beat and she, shyly, covered her own body with her hands.

“You came here, undressed yourself in front of me, begged me to take you and now you are suddenly shy?” Asked the Lord Commander with a wicked smile on his face, as he loosened the laces of his breeches.

“I fear my heart just stopped.” The princess mumbled, eyes getting wider as the fabric over his hips started to get floppier.

“Let us see if it’s true, shall we?” He asked, stopping his hands and laying over her again. He kissed her gently, without the urgency that propelled him in the beginning. He took her breasts in his hands, feeling the weight and the shape, groaning softly as he noticed that they were the right size for his hands.

She was made just for me, Jon thought.

Her hands were curiously roaming his back and, while she was distracted by his kisses, he took one nipple on his mouth and sucked it sweetly. Haelena gasped, trying to take his mouth of her breast. However, when he went to the other nipple and sucked it again, Jon felt her moan softly, her hands clasping in his hair and her hips twisting under him.

His hands wandered through the side of her body, feeling the soft curves of her waist, her hips and her thighs, contouring it and placing his fingers between her knees. With only the mere suggestion of his thumb, she parted her legs, embracing him with her legs. When she felt his hardness next to her entrance, she purred like a kitten, opening her eyes to him, maroon and shiny like dornish red.

He could only hear the crackle of the fire and their heartbeat.

“I believe your heart is working as it should, Your Grace.”

Jon started to kiss her again, her mouth, her cheeks, her delicious neck, her full breasts and her belly. He touched her entrance with his tongue and her hips darted upwards, a loud moan scaping through her lips. Her eyes were watching him, full of lust and wonder, closing when he touched her again, kissing her down there as he kissed her other lips.

She was moist and ready, slick under his tongue, her hips working in a natural surrender, searching for him. But he waited and kissed and licked, and when he felt her thighs closing around him and her hand clasping his hair, he knew she was ready. With a long and soft grunt, she eased her hips and opened her eyes, grabbing and taking him towards her.

Haelena kissed him, tasting her on his tongue, languid with the mix of sensations that crawled inside of her. He parted their kiss, looking at her with a shy smile, his hands taking loose strands from her face.

Jon got up, losing his ties and leaving his breeches on the floor. She watched his naked body with many thoughts in her head, most of them revolving around his masculinity, resting between his legs, upwards. He walked slowly towards the princess, waiting to see if the girl would ask for him to stop, waiting for her to say that everything was a mistake and she should have known better. But she didn’t say a word.

He laid on top of her again, adjusting her legs around him, seeing her gulp with apprehension as he placed his member by her entrance.

“You know what happens between a man and a woman?” Jon asked softly.

“Yes. I’ve seen the pictures in Lord Oberyn’s solar.” She answered, her voice so low that was almost a whisper.

“Aye.” Said Jon, his mouth kissing her temple with care, as his fingers pressed gently her delicate button, making her open to him. “I’ll be gentle.”

But Haelena was not listening anymore, only feeling that eagerness climbing inside her, making her thrust her hips towards him, arching her back. He started to slip inside her, so warm, so tight, so slick. He felt her maidenhood on the way and stopped, still waiting for her to change her mind.

“Please, Jon.” She murmured, her hips trusting him into her, deeper, as he felt her barrier brake. She exhaled heavily, tensing her whole body like a lyre. He waited as she grown used to him inside of her. He gently rubbed her button once again and it was like she came back to life, embracing him with her legs and whispering his name.

He took out his hand from her throbbing button and started to move, sensations overcoming him, the tension growing inside his belly, her soft moans in his ears, her long lashes over her cheeks, her hips beating against his. With a final push, he groaned her name, spilling his seed inside his princess.

He remained inside her while their heartbeats came back to normal. Haelena opened her eyes and smiled to him, combing his locks with care and love. The mere touch of her skin was enough to make him hard again and ready to take her one more time. Alas, she was, until some minutes earlier, a maid and would need to adjust to her new status. He could wait.

He left her body, seeing the blood smeared between her thighs, dripping onto the sheets. Jon, seeing how embarrassed she was, got up and went to his basin, damping a cloth in water. He came back to her and cleaned her up, taking away her blood and his seed over the pale skin. She purred gladly, feeling the cool cloth over her, seeing her lover gently taking care of her.

He tossed the cloth over the basin and laid by her side, covering them with warm furs. The Lord Commander took the princess of Valyria in his arms, her body molding in his, her head gently leaning over his shoulder, their breath synchronized in complete joy.

“I should leave soon.” Said Haelena, moving her head to watch Jon. “If Sansa notices that I’m not in our chamber, she will certainly call Ser Harry and we will be doomed.”

He smiled at her, gently stroking her thick hair.

“In a minute. Rest. I will wake you when it’s time to go.” He said, kissing her forehead tenderly.

She sighed and closed her eyes, feeling the tiredness take over her, embracing the body of her Lord Snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thanks to everyone that keeps reading and interacting with this fic! thank you guys soooo much!
> 
> Let's talk about this chapter, shall we?
> 
> Jon and Haelena finally made love!!! Hurray!! I loved so much writing this chapter. The two of them are bounded to their destinies and their family honor, yet... yet they realized that it was too much heartbreak to stay away! They could have happiness, in a way.
> 
> Will this affect Haelena's marriage? Will Jon remain true to the Night's Watch? Or will both of them break their promises to stay together?
> 
> Please, excuse any english mistakes that I committed, as English is not my first language.
> 
> I will be posting a new chapter every friday! Yay!


	10. Of broken hearts and open arms

Jon had woken her up early the day after, with soft kisses and giggles. He watched her with his heart on his throat, as she stretched in his bed, the furs slipping through her breasts, making him heavy with desire. However, it was time for her to go, as the sun began to shine under the horizon. He dressed her gently, sliding his hands on her legs as he put on her stockings, pinching her bottom while covering her in her nightgown, breathing that sweet smell of lavender and sweat over her skin.

They only met again on the courtyard, side by side, as the travelling group began their descent to Winterfell. She was beautiful, as usual, with her white gown with red embroidery, the lace veil over her chocolate hair. Her eyes were shinning and she had an easy smile on her lips, jesting with Ser Harry and singing Valyrian songs, in a low and melodic voice.

Sam and Dolorous Edd would accompany her. The Tarly boy had a nice tune, low and deep. Edd was a tragic singer, deeply out of tune. However, what he lacked in melody, he made up for in joyfulness, blasting his lungs with bawdy songs about bears and fair maidens. He would teach the princess the westerosi way to sing the tunes and she would achieve high cords, throwing her head back in full bliss.

Even though they spent nearly 10 hours on horseback each day, they could almost forget their tired bones and flesh. They had a lovely princess by their side, with such a good humor that even Ser Harry, her moody knight, was laughing with their companion.

They stopped first by a stream, so that the horses could have a drink and they could walk around, stretching their legs and preparing for more hours to come. Jon was orbiting around Haelena, exchange glances and smiles, his hands always touching her when no one could see. It was thrilling and exhilarating and he almost couldn’t breathe near her.

They stopped to sleep after the sun was set, their lanterns gleaming through the night. The men prepared the girls and the lord commander tent, just then moving away a bit, so they could lie together under the stars, drinking ale and talking obscenities. Their laughter had died for many hours when Jon felt something by his side. Usually he would think it was Ghost, back from the hunting trip. But she was warm and tender, her hair falling over his eyes when she got closer to him.

“So, you came back.” Jon murmured, turning around to see Haelena by his side, eyes gleaming in the darkness.

“Of course, my lord. We have business to attend.” She whispered, her hands travelling under the furs, finding the laces of his breeches. He groaned as he felt her hand on his member.

“You are playing with danger, my lady.” His hands were already on her nightgown, pulling and pushing, making her legs free for him,

“Oh my, Lord Snow, I believe I will risk it.” And he laughed, that delicious laugh that was so precious to her and so rare to hear coming from him. His hands were on her thighs, gently rubbing them and she couldn’t help a grimace. After so many hours on horseback, her legs were tender and sore from the friction with the saddle. She knew she ought to ride sideways, but it was so much easier to ride with her legs open, embracing the horse and maintaining herself safe over him.

“It was the ride today, wasn’t it?” He asked, getting up and going towards his chest. He opened and began to take several things from it.

“I believe so, my Lord.” She answered, watching him come back with a small vial, opening it and pouring its content over his hands. He rubbed his palms against one another and, sitting by the princess side, he gently applied on her bruises, making her moan with satisfaction.

“Already?” He teased, massaging with care, seeing how she loved it.

“What is it?” She asked, closing her eyes in complete bliss.

“It’s camphor. I’ve learned with the groom at Winterfell: when the horses were sore, especially from the friction caused by loose saddles, they would pass it on the area and, next day, they would be fit as a fiddle.” His hands started to go up. “They also say that it’s a powerful aphrodisiac.”

She laughed out loud, trying to contain her voice through her hands, but he really could care less. The only thing that was in his mind was her legs on his hips, her fingers involving his locks, her lips in his.

She felt like home, moist and ready under his member and he groaned her name, taking her over and over, whispering sweet nothings in her ear, adoring her curves and her features, the way her chest moved when she was asleep, the sound she made when he touched her womb, the way her lids flickered when she dreamt.

He adored the way her legs searched for him during the night, the way her breast was the right size for his hand, the way she unconsciously smiled when he touched her face. He could die in her arms and be the happiest man alive.

And although he knew that he had a countable number of days by her side, when he was with her on that pitchy black tent, her hair smelling of lavender and camphor, he could only be happy that they had, at least, those memories to share.

They took 15 days to travel from Castle Black to Winterfell. She continued to come every night to him, willing and willful, making love to him so many times that they wouldn’t sleep, watching together the sun appear on the horizon. It was intense and rushed, the words they wish to talk to each other, words of longing and fear, trapped in their throats, dreading to break the spell of those nights.

And on their last day, as she rested beside him, he couldn’t think of departures and broken hearts.

He could only remember her eyes gleaming under the blue sky, her voice reverberating through the woods, her smile blinding all around her. He would remember the joy he felt those last days with her by the saddle, her chestnut locks under the lace, her laugh around them.

He would remember all of her little quirks and mannerism, the way she tilted her head when confused, the way she clasped shut her lips when annoyed, the tingly nose when something was not right. The sounds she made at night were fixed in his memory and, if he closed his eyes, he could see every inch of skin, printed under his lids.

These memories should be enough.

They had to be enough.

— —

They arrived at Winterfell exhausted and disheveled. The King and the Queen were by the gates, waiting impatiently for the small group to arrive. After all, Arya only announced that they were at Castle Black many days after their own arrival and their parents must have been extremely worried towards their welfare.

Not only that: they were extremely late and Queen Catelyn had to reschedule the celebrations. Especially since she learnt that the Valyrian wedding ceremony needed to be under a full moon.

“You should have come straight back home, yes.” Said the woman, looking vexed at Arya, that pretended that she wasn’t talking to her. “However, we would have to change everything anyway, so, at least, like your father said, you had the opportunity to meet the Wall.” The Queen looked sad when she added: “Although you couldn’t meet Uncle Benjen.”

They nodded towards their mother, eyes lost in thought, remembering how joyful they were when they were coming to the northernmost place in the kingdom. They still had fun, meeting the wildlings and watching Arya defeat every man on the Wall with her tiny sword. However, at night, Sansa would lead them in a silent prayer, taking their hands in hers and whispering encouraging thoughts.

“Anyway, we have much to prepare until the end of the week. I wish to talk about cake flavors, wines and ales, fabrics of choice and anything that would make this easier for you, darling.” Said the Queen, taking Haelena’s arms in hers, as Arya and Sansa surrounded poor old Ned.

The princess lifted her eyes, astonished, imagining for a minute that the Queen knew about she and Jon.

“A marriage is never easy, especially an arranged one.” She paused, watching her husband playing with their daughters. “However, it can be pleasant and, eventually, you will find love, my darling. Robb is a good man and he has the sweetest of hearts. Nothing can go wrong.”

“I hope so, Your Grace.” She meekly said, watching around her and searching for Jon. He wished to have a conference with King Eddard, some sort of demands that the Night’s Watch had. “I hope that Prince Robb is well?”

The Queen clasped her lips together, suddenly annoyed.

“Well, indeed, he is in good health. I imagine. He spent the last two days in a hunting trip with Theon. I’ve told him that you were soon to be back, but he thought that the Castle Black party would take longer to go through the Wolfswood, as the snow is quite deep near there.” She paused. “I hope that you don’t think ill of him. He is very anxious for the wedding.”

Haelena nodded, opaque eyes lost in memories. She hardly could remember Robb. In her mind he was a bright boy, with a head of orange hair and dazzling blue eyes, blue like a winter sky, without clouds or fears. He was skinny and not so comely as Jon, tall, dark and strong. But he would smile all the time, taking her to dance with him in circles through the Hall, so kind and courteous.

He was a nice boy, as Arya once said.

However, would he be able to love her, someday? Would she be able to lock away the memories of the Wall from her mind and take Jon from her heart?

“He will be here in three days, at most.” The Queen added. “You won’t even notice.”

Her family arrived two days after her own arrival, loud and joyful as ever. She hugged them tightly, kissing her crying parents and taking a deep bow in front of her lady grandmother. With all her brothers and sisters together, it seemed as if the sun had arrived to the North, making it warm, for once, and she could almost forget her worries about Jon and Robb.

But Robb didn’t arrive in three days, as it was planned. He sent a missive to his mother, informing that they were far into the woods, and it would take him more three days. Yes, he knew that the wedding was planned for that time. No, he was not avoiding his responsibilities. Yes, he was sure it would all turn out alright.

She hoped, as well, that everything would turn out alright.

— —

“We should have gone back to Winterfell as planned.” Complained Robb to Theon as the wench filled his cup once more.

“Oh, come on, Robb. Why? It’s your marriage, it’s your last days as a bachelor. You shouldn’t have to spend them adulating your bride and her family.” Theon grabbed a voluptuous girl by the waist and placed her over his knees, while she shrieked with joy. “A little lie at Winter Town will hurt no one.”

“It’s not adulation, Theon. I deserve to show her some respect, especially since I stopped to answer her letters.”

Robb didn’t know what made him do that. He knew that she was a beauty and he was extremely lucky to have an arranged marriage with such a princess. However, she went away to a godforsaken place and he started to deal with his land, taking the command from his father, hand of the king, back then.

He grew up, roaming through the North, with Theon and his mother by his side. Theon would take him to hunts and drinks. His mother would take him from the Council Chamber to the Sept. Suddenly, that beauty with maroon eyes and sweet taste vanish from his mind and all the things that troubled his people, the northerners, took her place.

“Robb, you will have a lifetime with her by your side.” Theon pinched one of the girl’s nipples. “She will be complaining all the time about the new cook, your stupid son that only care about whores and your aloof daughter that only thinks about new dresses.”

“A boy and a girl would be nice.” Robb said to his cup, smiling at nothing with the thought in his mind.

“Oh, come on! Listen to yourself, already thinking about children.” Theon waved to the kitchen wench, who came with the ale and some cheese and bread.

“I have to, Theon. It’s part of the alliance. It will only be cemented when she is not only with child, but delivers one healthy babe.” The prince said, taking a piece of bread and braking it in several parts.

“So, you are willing to fuck her, hum?” The iron born teased, munching a piece of cheese. “You think about the lady bits of the princess and your little prick between her legs, hum?”

Robb laughed, scratching his reddish-brown beard. He really imagined how was going to be to have her in his bed, a high-born lady, a virgin. So different from the Winter Town whores, even the new one’s directly from brothels in Kings Landing and the Reach.

“Aye. I think about it. I think about her, sometimes.” He paused, looking at Theon right in his eyes, making his companion shush away the whore in his lap and turn to the prince. “I’m willing to make this match work, Theon. I’m coming to the sept with open arms and open heart, ready to take her in my life.”

Theon asked:

“Why? She is just a girl.”

Robb sighed, thinking about it. Aye, she may be just a girl. But she would be his wife. The woman he would share his bed with. That would bare him his children. That he would vow to protect and to love. His vows mentioned love, above everything else. How he could say those words if he was not willing to, at least, try to love her?

“She, one day, will be my Queen. She will rule by my side and tend to every matter: crops, lands, subjects, war and peace. She will teach our children to rule with an iron fist and a kind heart, as well. I owe this to her. I need to love her enough to trust her.” Robb answered, eyes lost over the wall.

Greyjoy put his hand over his own cup, paused and finally said:

“May I tell you something, my prince?” Robb nodded and he continued. “Love her, if you will, care for her and bare her children. But above else, you are the prince in the north. And, someday, you will be king, laying the crown over your head, not hers. Trust your gut and no one else’s and you be fine.”

“Theon, a kingdom is not built alone.” He answered, taking a sip from the ale. “If I don’t trust my advisors or my queen… I will be a terrible king, at least.”

Theon throw at Robb a piece of cheese, that landed flat in his chest.

“Listen to yourself! You are the Young Wolf, son of King Eddard Stark, the most honorable and wise man alive in those northern lands. You were prepared for this role all your life! You know every person that lives in the great far north and they care for you and they love you.” Theon exclaimed, making a motion with his hand to show the surrounding to his friend.

Robb could see the miller and the butcher, side by side. The whores that would come to the lonely man for a coin. The maids that would deliver ale and wine, bread and cheese. The baker’s wife that came with fresh bread to sell on the tavern, her stomach round with another babe on the way.

He knew all of the townspeople, the servants and smallfolk from every keep in the North. He knew that the men near Karhold had a bad habit of fighting on the taverns. He knew about the high number of drownings near White Harbour. He knew about how frightened the whores were of the Dreadfort and he was fond of the crannogmen and their movable homes.

“Trust yourself, Robb. Believe in yourself the way I believe in you.”

He felt that this was his land and no other person could rule it better than himself. Robb grinned, hugging his best friend.

“Thank you, Theon. Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thanks for reading this fic! Keep commenting!
> 
> Let's talk about this chapter, shall we?
> 
> Jon and Haelena are so adorable with each other! He tending her in his tent... Lovely! And they're so happy!! I love happy Jon!! Will this happiness remain? Will our lovers be heartbroken by the end of their stay in Winterfell? Or will they accept their destinies and part their way without hard feelings?
> 
> Robb is ready to take his wife and start a new life with her! So cute! But, perhaps, he shouldn't listen so much to Theon's advices...
> 
> Please, excuse any english mistakes that I committed, as English is not my first language.
> 
> I will be posting a new chapter every friday! Yay!


	11. Of ceremonials and weirwoods

All she had to do was wait. She waited patiently on her solar, sorting out her belongings and her presents, surrounded by Queen Caitlyn, her mother, Daena, Sansa and all her good sisters.

“What is it?” Asked Queen Catelyn, taking out of a chest the black gown that Val had given to her. The princess lifted her head and watched the women surround her present, touching the fabric and looking at the stitching.

“It was a present. From the princess of the wildlings.” Haelena said, adjusting the blanket over her knees, maintaining the heat. It was so cold in the North and it wasn’t even winter yet.

“A princess? I thought they were not ruled by kings or lords.” Daena said, taking her eyes of the mittens knitted by the free-women.

“They have chosen a man called Mance Rider to follow. He is under arrest at the Wall, for trying to invade the premises with his people.” Sansa explained, taking of her gaze from the embroidery she was doing.

“Sweetheart, they were not his people. He is just a man that questioned the rightful authority of the King to rule in the North.” Said Queen Catelyn, still holding the gown.

“Your Grace, they were not in King Eddard’s lands. They were beyond-the-wall and those lands don’t belong to the North or any kingdom already existent at all.” Haelena said, making her mother give her a sharp look.

The Queen didn’t answer, only saying:

“It is ill luck to have a black dress in the bride’s trousseau. It’s better if we give it away.” Said the Queen, putting the gown aside.

Haelena looked in stunned silence as Sansa protested:

“Mother, it is a present! Haelena will be princess of the wildlings that are staying on the Gift. It’s a sign of trust and good will towards them. She should keep it.”

“Black is worn for mourning, Sansa. A bride that has already a gown of this color is attracting death towards the family.” The Queen looked slightly annoyed with her daughter.

“It was the only fabric that they had.” Haelena spoke in a low voice, her mind revolving around the Queen’s speech. She would attract death, she thought. The death she saw back in Valyria, so young, in the flames. She still could remember Kinvara by her side, her strong smell in her nostrils, her voice whispering in her ear: _what do you see, my princess?_ “It was not their intention…”

“Their intention or not, I think we must give it to someone else. The miller’s daughter is a recent widow…” But she didn’t had time to finish, as a voice came from the back of the room, sullen and old, like the plains of Valyria.

“Let her keep it. A gift is a gift, no bad ill done. She will not attract anything that is already supposed to be.”

No one dared to speak against Lady Visenya, sat by the fire. She has been making everyone slightly nervous and edgy, afraid of falling from the good graces of the old lady. She was nearly 500 years old, the servants said, she has magic in her veins and is never good to tease a witch.

The silence took over the small party, making Haelena’s thoughts wander around the room. Her wedding was already the next day and she could see her gown next to the window, the sun shining over the white fabric. It would be the last time she would wear her family colors: she would be a Stark after the celebration, wearing grey and white, donning wolf circlets and brooches.

She was changing rooms the next day as well. She was going to a room next to Robb’s, with a big solar and a balcony. Most of her belongings were already there, in huge chests or decorating the walls. A door by the fire would separate her from Robb’s room and her fingers trembled with anxiety.

She tried to remember the vows she had to say to the septon, words that Queen Catleyn made her repeat every day and every night. She tried to remember her way to the Sept, how she would take of her glove and giver her bare hand to Robb. How she would rise her head gently, waiting for him to pledge his love with a kiss.

Love? What love?

They barely knew each other. She only remembered the young boy excited by the bride that was chosen for him. Then she went away, to the far away planes of Dorne, where she and the Stark sister’s grew into women. And when she thought she was going back to Winterfell to be with prince Robb, her betrothed, her only true love, she gave up to her desires, and travel the ocean to meet with the bastard boy turned in lord commander.

Oh God, she thought, feeling her cheeks burn, while thinking of Jon’s lips kissing her skin, his callous hands caressing her body.

How could she allow the poor ginger boy pledge his love to someone who clearly didn’t deserved it. To someone that dreaded the thought of laying by his side in his bed, allowing him to have his way, opening her legs and closing her eyes in submission, only hopping that it would end quickly.

That was not right.

That was not fair.

She felt her heart beat without rhythm in her chest, the breath in her lungs shallow, her hands trembling under the blanket. She felt cold and hot at the same time and she couldn’t bear any longer Queen Catelyns voice in her ear, asking and demanding things that were out of her reach.

Things she could never deliver.

She couldn’t leave Jon’s side. She belonged to him, like the moon belong to the sky. She was nothing without him, just an empty shell. She thought she was so smart, giving up of her body, hoping that the desire she felt would vanish once he took her for himself. However, while claiming her virtue, he claimed her heart and her mind.

And, Haelena thought, she feared that she could never recover those two things from the grip of his masculine hands.

Feeling sick, watching the room spin before her eyes and the tears trying to be free from their prison, she got up in an impulse and said: 

“Excuse me, Your Grace, Miladies. I wish to take a private moment of prayer, as tomorrow is the wedding and my heart feels anxious.” Haelena lied. “I leave the presents in your expert hands.”

And she fled.

— —

“You are the Lord Commander, no?” Came a voice behind Jon. He was practicing his arrow skills and failing miserably. It was hard to concentrate when all he had in his mind was Haelena.

He turned around, as a group of extremely blond men gathered. The tallest of them, a large fella with sharp eyes came towards him, reaching out in salutation.

“You watched my sister while she was there. The princess. Haelena.” He said, with his hand still waiting for a firm handshake.

“Oh, yes. You sister, you say?” Jon said, finally reaching the man’s hand, shacking with a firm grip.

“Our little sister, in fact.” Said a handsome man, coming towards them. “I’m Baelon, this is Aegon.”

Watching the group around him, he noticed that they were all very similar, with the blond hair and purple eyes. However, Jon started to notice some differences. Aegon, the older and tallest, as it seems, had a sharp gaze and a downturned mouth, making him appear older than he must be.

Baelon, however, had delicate features and extremely long lashes. He walked around like he knew he was a handsome devil, winking to the maids passing by and laughing out loud.

“Corlys, come here you fool.” Baelon said, making a poor fella, still munching several pies in his hands, walk to them. He was a little chubbier than the others, but had sweet eyes, round and big. “You two, Erik, Fenrir, stop this right away. Take Gael of the barrel right now.”

Erik and Fenrir were twins, as it seemed, with long blond hair, so clear that was almost white. One of them wore it loose in his head, only a thin leather strap securing some hair strands from falling on his eyes. The other wore it in a braid over the shoulder, like Haelena would plaid for bed.

“Really? You two are decades old and still playing this kind of pranks with your little brother?” Complained Aegon, looking vexed. Getting out of the barrel was the brother, Gael was his name, that most appeared with Haelena: he had the same eyes, maroon and slant. He appeared to be shy, ignoring the false excuses their brothers were trying to conceive. “Anyway, I hope she wasn’t trouble.”

“Oh no, no problem at all. A perfect lady.” Jon grunted, trying to take away all those memories of Haelena being nothing close to a proper lady in his bed.

Aegon had a little smile in his face, looking satisfied.

“She is a great girl.” He merely said, his eyes lost somewhere in the past.

“Hel is amazing.” One of the twins, Erik, perhaps, said, poking his other twin in the ribs. “She was so young, barely could walk, but was always after us, trying to play games and scare mother.”

“That’s one of the reasons that we call her Hel, you see.” Said the other, Fenrir. “She would always get in trouble with Mother and Father. A true devil.”

“Really?” Jon asked, trying to think about the courteous girl he knew pranking around the castle walls in old Valyria.

“They are exaggerating, Lord Snow.” Said Aegon, his ferocious gaze upon the twins. “You see, Haelena was the youngest of us and Daena was already married when she was born. She only had brothers to play with… And our games were a little different.”

“Hel, since she was little, had always a bunch of tutors and stuff to do.” Complained Baelon, walking towards Jon. “However, when she could escape the grips of duty, she would run to us. We would play all day with her, throwing her in the air, teaching her how to catch draganaes in the wild.”

Corlys seemed sad when he added:

“But we were twenty years older than her and, with time, we didn’t want to play with a child. We got married, waiting for children of our own, that could play with our little sister. The children never came and, suddenly, Hel was already a lady.”

“Oh, come on, listen to yourself!” Exclaimed Aegon, frustrated. “It’s not like we just abandoned her during childhood. She had us, all the time.”

“It was not the same thing.” Baelon said, purple eyes lost in the past. “We sure love her, but we were more like uncles than brothers. She was quite alone with the red witch, every hour of every day, by the fire.”

They stopped, suddenly looking to Lord Snow, who was watching their reminiscences about their younger sister. They seemed like boys caught saying something they were not supposed to. Jon knew what worried them.

“No, my lords. I was already aware about the… connection… that Haelena had with the Lord of the Light. She warned our lord father about the perils our family would face and how he should avoid it.” Jon explained. “We got used to her…magic.”

“Thank the Dragonrider!” Exclaimed Aegon, throwing his hands to the heavens. “Haelena is a good girl, a kind woman. She is not a witch in any manner, although she learnt a great deal with lady Kinvara. I hope you understand, my Lord.”

Baelon, however, seemed surprised, interrupting the lord commander’s answer and asking:

“You say you are King Eddard son, as well? You don’t share the Stark name.”

“Yes, my lord. I’m his natural child.” Jon felt his neck get tensed by the remark. “A bastard if you will.”

One of the twins poked the other and said in hushed tones:

“But I thought that he was a…”

Before they could continue their thought, a blond man appeared, adjusting his blond moustache.

“Could you believe it?” Said the man. “Hel passed by me as if she had seen a ghost. She didn’t even greet me!”

“Where is she?” Jon questioned, anxious to escape from there, towards Haelena’s arms. They have been too long away from each other and his flesh longed for her.

“She went to the garden, my lord…” But before Viserys could finish his explanations, the lord commander was already out there, his bow across the courtyard floor. 

— —

She walked through the Castle, aimlessly, wandering through the halls and corridors, roaming through the gardens, until she reached a beautiful white tree, with red leaves and a sad face carved in the wood.

She kneeled in front of it, placing her hands gently on the trunk, closing her eyes. She knew about the Weirwood tree, representing the Old Gods of Westeros. Jon would talk about it, many times, as he was devout to them. His brothers, he said, were raised to believe on the Seven, as Lady Stark, but Jon, being a bastard, was raised believing on those ancient beings that lived there for so many years, mysterious and dangerous.

“I thought you were a follower of the Lord of Light.” Said a voice behind her, very familiar.

She opened her eyes and got up, launching herself into Jon’s arms. He hugged and kissed her, holding her against the tree. Oh, how she missed him!

“I follow many things, it seems.” She said between kisses, feeling his hands pulling up, tenderly, her skirts. When she felt his warm hands inside her thigh, she exhaled: “The old gods would approve of you taking me by their tree?”

“They would certainly not disapprove.” He said, kissing her neck and her chest, his hands rubbing her inner thighs. She moaned softly, grabbing his hair between her fingers. “Why you are so pale?”

“I needed to get away from that room. Queen Catelyn was making me insane, talking about the gifts, my vows, the dress, the ceremonials, Robb…”

Jon stopped his exploring, taking his hands of her bottom and placing in her cheeks, turning her doe eyes towards him. He could see the sadness in her, the same that would torment his soul day and night, placing his head in the clouds and making him turn is his bed, unable to sleep.

“I… I was so happy by your side those last days. I… can’t. I just can’t do this. I thought that I was strong enough, but I was mistaken. I’m not. I will never be.” She whispered, her lips trembling.

“No, Hel, please.” He mumbled, hugging her. “Don’t cry. Don’t break. If you do, I will break as well.” He kissed her forehead.

“Hel?” She smiled shyly. “Only my brothers call me that.”

“Well, would you like if I did it too?” He asked, playfully, knowing that it didn’t matter how he would call her in private. For the next several years, she would be Your Grace for him and that’s that.

“I would, actually. It reminds me of home… Of how I would run around the lava rivers, chasing the draganaes around, pranking my brothers and practically begin them to play with me... And after they got married… I was so alone… And then I met you and I wasn’t alone anymore.” She answered, stroking his beard. “How could we get into this mess, Jon?” She whispered, her nose gently brushing his. “I cannot marry Robb and leave you on that Wall. I would die, knowing that whoever is going to sleep by my side every night it’s not you. I was stupid thinking that what we had until now was enough. I can’t be alone again.”

They locked eyes and, for a moment, there were only them in the world.

“You have fire within you. You know that, I know that. You are a Valyrian princess, destined to greater things that our mortal souls would ever dream of. We will have our memories that I will cherish for as long as I can breathe. And I will always love you, deep on the Wall, half frozen and heartbroken.”

He felt, deep in his heart, that ache and longing that he was familiar with and that, since Ygritte’s death, he never felt again. She was the reason he smiled, the reason he didn’t felt trapped and lost in Winterfell’s walls, like the little boy he once was. She gave him strength and courage when he needed most.

It was clearly love. And his heart ached with longing and anger, thinking of his bounding vows to the Night’s Watch and her betrothal to the wrong brother. Love was, indeed, their great glory and tragedy.

“You do love me?” She asked, eyes glistening with tears.

“I do.” He answered, kissing her mouth.

They had never said those words to one another and she felt warm and happy. And, for a moment, it didn’t matter if she was to marry another and he would remain years forgotten on those gelid lands. He loved her and she loved him. For now, that was enough.

“I love you too.” She murmured. Suddenly, she was pressed again on the trunk, her leg on his waist, his fingers pulling down her bodice, freeing her breasts to his touch. Her hands were in his crotch, unlacing his breeches, pushing him to the ground and ridding him. It was good and felt like home.

There was something about the icy wind blowing on her breasts, tingling her with cold. The way the sun shone under the red leaves, tinting them with hues of pink. The way the silence was broken by the chirp of birds and the frenetic run of squirrels and the smell of moist earth under them. It seemed divine and holly, like a blessing or a cult.

He mumbled, with eyes full of lust:

“Who comes before the old gods?”

And she knew those words, deep in her mind and her heart, begging her to say…

“I come.” She answered, groaning as he pushed her hips against his.

“And I claim you.” He took her lips in his, smiling broadly as he heard her moaning over him. “Will you take me?”

“I will, I will!” She grunted, as he spilled his seed inside her before the old gods, claiming her as his. It was their secret. Theirs and the old gods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thanks for reading this fic and thanks for all the bookmarks and kudos! Keep commenting, guys!
> 
> Let's talk about this chapter, shall we?
> 
> I loooove Lady Visenya's personality! She reminds of Lady Grantham of Downton Abbey and I tried to make her sassy and powerful, full of opinions as well. I think she will be Haelena's great confident, being the famous powerful and magical warrior that she is.
> 
> I really liked making this small interaction between Jon and Hel's brothers. I think that, as she was the youngest of teh Valyrian kids, she would be very lonely most of the time, due to the age gap, even knowing their brothers would do everything in their power to protect her. Notice that every brother has a name in the ABC order and I thought it would be a nice quirk to their personalities.
> 
> I loved writing the scene of Jon and Haelena under the weirwood tree. I wanted for them to be committed with each other and pour their love and fears, while they still can :( this will not be the last we see of this amazing couple, but apparently they are going to keep with the plan and their destinies.
> 
> Please, excuse any english mistakes that I committed, as English is not my first language.
> 
> I will be posting a new chapter every friday! Yay!


	12. Of weddings and beddings

Haelena was clean and fresh, her hair shiny and up in her head, filled with braids and small pearls, crowned by her ruby tiara. She was wearing a new gown, with white and silver brocade, tight bodice and full skirts. Underneath, she was wearing a new linen shift, with a new pair of woolen socks and stays. On her feet, delicate furred boots, made of deer skin and rabbit fur.

“Are you ready, sweetheart?” Her father asked behind her, holding her maiden’s cloak in his hands.

She nodded, without words, putting on the gloves and walking towards him. It was a beautiful cloak, white wool trimmed with red cotton, the beautiful embroidery of a dragon, red as blood, on its center. It was heavy and she almost fell with its weight, leaning on her father for support.

They walked through the castle, the servants exclaiming how beautiful the princess was, the prettier bride they ever saw. Haelena felt her heart thundering under her stays and wished she could faint during the celebration, just to avoid the marriage… just for a little while.

The sept at Winterfell was not a large one, built by Lord Stark for his southern bride. She adjusted her shoulders, looked at King Maekar and the doors opened. It had seven walls, all adorned with stained glass and candle-sticks. In front of her, across a path, surrounded by people, it was two images of the Father and the Mother, looking at each other. By their side, there was septon Chayle, a young and cheerful lad, with a good nature and high spirits. And then, Robb.

He got older, of course. His hair was much darker, loosing that orange hue to a much reddish tone. He had grown a beard, full and dark, that covered half of his features, except those large blue eyes, fixed on her. He seemed tired, perhaps from the hunt and the long journey back home. The fatigue suited him, like a dornish red and pheasant meat.

Robb was a handsome man, large and tall, with big hands and broad shoulders. She thought about him laying by her side, like Jon did after he took her, placing his hand in her belly, caressing her skin after spilling his seed on her. Would she care for it like she cared now? Would the thought of it make her shiver with anticipation, wishing for the darkness, so that they could lay, side by side?

Would Jon ever leave her mind?

She was placed by her groom’s side, her father kissing her forehead gently and standing behind her. The septon started to say something related to seven vows, seven blessing and seven promises, but she listened to none. Her eyes darted around, trying to find Lord Snow somewhere, waiting for her, watching her being married to someone else. Would he intervene? Would he be true to their agreement?

There he was, by the door, with Samwell Tarly and Ed Tollett. His eyes were sad, making that greyish hue natural to them get a black tinge, like a storm approaching the desert. His hands were tense over the hilt of his sword and his jaw was locked with apprehension.

How could she do that? How could she taste the nectar and vow to never again have it?

“Does anyone oppose to this union?” Chayle said in a high and clear voice and her eyes darted to Robb’s face, fearing his reaction to the sound of Jon proclaiming his will.

But no one said a thing, Jon’s eyes still fixed on her.

“You may now cloak your bride and bring her under your protection.”

She felt hands over her shoulders, removing her maiden’s cloak. She shivered without the comfortable weight over her and hugged herself for warmth. Robb, in a swift move, opened the clasp of his own cloak and covered her, the Stark grey over her clothes, the fiery wolf gnarling to the guests. He took her hand in his, taking off the leather glove, carefully, as Chayle bind them together with a white ribbon. His skin was cold and fresh under hers and she could feel the goosebumps in her arms, searching for warmth.

“In the sight of the seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one. One flesh, one heart, one soul.” Declare the Septon. “Look upon one another and say the words.”

Robb turned to her, taking her other hand in his, announcing:

“Father, Smith, Warrior…” He stopped, watching his bride, who remained mute, wide eyes and shallow breath. “My princess? Are you well?”

She woke from her trance, wetting her lips and darting her eyes between he and the septon.

“Pardon me, my lord. I… I don’t remember the words.” She declared, blushing heavily. Queen Catelyn had made her practice her vows several hours each day, but now, her mind was a blank canvas.

“Just follow me.” Robb claimed as he continued, pausing for Haelena to catch on. “Father… Smith… Warrior… Mother… Maiden… Crone… Stranger…”

“I am hers…”

“I am his…”

“And she is mine…”

“And he is mine…”

“From this day until the end of my days.” They said in unison, while the septon untied their hands. 

“With this kiss, I pledge my love.” Said Robb, taking her lips in his, briefly, as the crowd cheered.

She blinked, confused, with all the sounds echoing around the seven stone walls and the strong smells of camphor.

Why it had such a strong smell of camphor? It took her mind to Jon’s tent and every night they spent together, with him rubbing oils in her skin and making love to her until she was completed with a sleepy bliss. It was not proper, it was not right, to think about her lover in her wedding day, feeling the gentle hand of her husband on the small of her back and his mouth next to her ear, murmuring the words she had forgotten:

“And I take you for my lord and husband, as Haelena Stark, princess of the North.”

— —

It was a horror show. Haelena appeared to be miserable and lost under the huge Stark cloak, surrounded by the flickering lights of the candles and the camphor smell.

Why the camphor? They could have chosen any incense for that day, but they chose the one Jon would put in her thighs after the horseback riding. He would make love to her and smell it in her skin, rubbing against him. He felt sick thinking about having her in his arms, while later, that same day, she would be with another men.

She had looked around nervously, searching for him, almost screaming his name. When her eyes locked in his, he knew: she only needed to say a word and he would grab her and run away, finding a nice settlement in Essos, maybe a farm with cows and pigs to tend. They didn’t need much: a roof over their heads, a fireplace to maintain the heat, coin to buy provisions, food to their bellies. Maybe a nice straw mattress, where he would lie with her and take her every night. Where he would caress her round belly and where he would take in his arms his own son.

He would be named Eddard.

However, it was only a dream, a will that was strong but contained under his title as Lord Commander and his mission to defend Westeros from the Others. She would be safe by Robb’s side, protected and never neglected. He would love Haelena, eventually, as Jon loved her and Robb would, certainly, love their children. His princess knew her duty and her destiny: she remained in stunned silence, waiting for a miracle, whispering her vows with shacking hands and eyes wide in panic.

So, he remained in silence as well, watching Robb kissing her lips and murmuring something in her ear, making her blush heavily like a maid. He still remained in silence in the corner of the Hall, watching the feast happening before his eyes, King Eddard’s bannermen taking his princess by the hand and dancing with her in circles.

It made him sick in his stomach but he couldn’t turn away his gaze. He was hypnotized by her beauty, by the way she looked completely lost and alone, by the way her eyes glistened around the Hall with sadness.

“Isn’t she something?” Said Robb by his side, as Haelena danced with Lord Bolton, tense as a lyre.

“Aye, brother. You are a lucky man.” Jon answered, trying to find words, proper one’s, to say. He only wished to send Robb to the seven hells.

“Aye, my lord.” Came an unknown voice behind the two brothers. It was a strange man, thin and tired, with eyes that had seen too much in his lifetime, a full beard peppered with white hair. “A beauty indeed. I had the pleasure of taking her into a Jig and she was a gracious dancer, compensating for my two left feet.”

A wide smile appeared in Robb’s face, watching his wife twist around the Hall in Lord Bolton’s arms.

“She is a princess trough and trough, ser…?” Robb began to answer, realizing he didn’t know the man’s name.

“Lord Davos Seaworth, my lord. At your disposal.” Said the man, bowing to Robb and, next to Jon.

“Lord Davos, this is my brother, Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, Jon Snow.” He paused, watching as Smalljon Umber took the place of Lord Bolton and lifted Haelena in his arms, making the crowd cheer. “I am afraid that I don’t recognize your family’s name, my lord. Certainly, it’s not from the North.”

Lord Davos shook his head and added:

“Indeed, my lord. I work for King Stannis Baratheon. He made me a Lord for the services provided to the Crown.” Jon noticed Robb’s lips tightening in a thin line.

“What made King Stannis send an emissary to the far north, pray I ask?” Jon asked, before his brother could make any rude remark.

Since the moment Lord Stannis named himself king of the six kingdoms, alluding to his good sister treason with her own brother, producing incestuous children, letters and missives from the new king were flooding Winterfell’s halls, demanding a union between the two kings to defeat the usurper King Joffrey. Before the lord could start his nicely prepared speech, Robb said:

“I hope that you don’t intend to deal with business today, my lord. It’s my wedding feast and I’m eager to dance with my wife.” Walking towards Smalljon, he added: “If you wish to discuss political matters, I would recommend talking to my father. He’s the king after all.”

And with a courtesy, Robb took his bride from his bannerman’s arms, swinging her in circles around the applauding crowd. 

— —

“I hope you were not annoying the groom in his own wedding feast.” Said Theon with a mug of ale in his hands.

“We were only talking pleasantries, Theon.” Jon answered in a bad mood. “This is Lord Davos Seaworth, emissary from King Stannis. Lord Stannis, this is Lord Theon Greyjoy, the ward of King Eddard.” He waited as both the man acknowledge each other, adding: “I now must retire. My lords.”

He was already walking away when he felt a firm grasp in his arm.

“What you are saying, Snowy?” Asked Theon, using that terrible nickname he used with Jon when they were little. “We have to wait for the bedding.”

“I’m extremely tired and I must…” Jon tried to say, being interrupted by Lord Davos.

“The bedding is an old tradition, my lord. We all must attend to it.”

Theon cheered, calling the attention from some blond men around them. They were Haelena’s brothers, beautiful, blond and tall, purple eyes shining under the candle lights. They didn’t ask to be presented to Theon or Lord Davos, turning to Jon with a quizzical look:

“What is a bedding, Lord Snow?” Said Aegon, sharp eyes towards him.

Jon suddenly lost the ability to speak consistently. How could he explain the bedding, if the images that popped in his mind were of Haelena and Robb in a dark room, with men screaming outside their door and she, trembling with fear?

“Oh, right, you are the princess brothers!” Theon exclaimed, clearly drunk. “Oh, it’s a tradition, like Lord Davos said. A beautiful and very proper tradition concerning the newlyweds. Very fun.”

The brothers remained watching them, waiting for a proper answer, forcing the old lord to speak:

“The bedding is a tradition to confirm that the wedding was consummated. The bride and the groom are taken to their new room and closed there, to… you know...” Lord Davos seemed as uncomfortable as Jon was feeling. “And after… that… someone comes and takes the sheet, showing that the bride was a maiden.”

The brothers pondered for a while, talking in hushed tones with one another, then turning to Jon, the only interlocutor that they properly knew.

“It will not happen.” Said Baelon, nodding with his head.

“What do you mean?” Theon asked, clearly interested, munching a turkey leg.

Fenrir, the twin, with sarcastic eyes and a devilish smile came forward.

“She is a Valyrian princess, my lord. She will take no part in this primitive act. Haelena will be treated as the princess she is.” The twin said, eyes gleaming. They were purple like amethysts and gave Jon chills in his nape.

“What the seven hells are you talking about?” Theon was hooked on the story, forgetting his turkey leg and his mug of ale, getting closer to them. “She is marrying the prince of the North. To seal the alliance, their marriage must be consummated and her maidenhood must be proved.”

Jon could notice around them the guests getting drunker and agitated, talking in hushed tones to one another. He could sense them starting to chant for the bedding to take place and it was the last thing Jon intended to see that day. He couldn’t take away Haelena’s clothes knowing that it was not him by her side in the canopy bed.

“Boy, she is a woman of royal blood, descendent of Visenya Targaryen. We don’t need to prove anything to you or any guests in this castle. Our word is enough to King Eddard and…” Aegon started to say, being interrupted by the cheer, coming from down the hall, raised by the servant’s voices, passing through the knights and maids, arriving at the nobility table, reaching the royal couple.

“Bed them! Bed them!” The men and women sang, clapping and walking towards the couple.

Robb and Haelena were in the middle of the room, surrounded by the joyful guests, who walked towards them, ready to take of the newlywed’s clothes. Especially the princess undergarments. Haelena’s eyes were wide and she searched over the crowd for someone to help her.

“What the…” Baelon murmured, as men surrounded the couple, trying to take the girl from Robb’s arms. With a nod towards the horde, he and his brothers tried to reach for their helpless sister, involved by her husband, making Jon’s heart ache.

A voice came from the high table, startling the guests, busy trying to separate the royal couple:

“My Lords! My Lords! I fear there will be no bedding tonight.” Declared in a high voice King Eddard, smiling at his subjects. “I still have a gift to give to the newlyweds.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thanks for reading this fic and thanks for the kudos!!
> 
> Let's talk about this chapter, shall we?
> 
> It pained my heart to write Robb and Haelena’s marriage. Especially considering that Robb is so willing to make his bride happy and Haelena is so heartbroke :( 
> 
> I tried to show how Jon and Hel are conected, thinking about the camphor smell and their own long nights on the road.
> 
> And, finally, we have the best lord of all, Davos! He is here and he is ready to make his mark. I loved writing his interaction with sad Jon, joyful Robb, drunk Theon and the Valyrian pack, as I so fondly call Hel’s brothers.
> 
> Now, what is the great present that King Eddard Stark has for the newlyweds? ;)
> 
> Please, excuse any english mistakes that I committed, as English is not my first language.
> 
> I will be posting a new chapter every friday! Yay!


	13. Of new kings and queens

Ned knew, from the moment he saw the guests cheering the marriage of his son to the dragon princess, what he would give to them.

Haelena was responsible for many things. She assured him that he went to Kings Landing fully aware of his surroundings and the people that he would meet there. She took care of his daughters and guaranteed not only a proper education for both of them, but, the best education a young girl could have in Westeros. Arya was an able warrior, better than many grown men around the kingdom. Sansa was a smart politician, always with a nice smile on her lips and an ingenious mind behind.

His wife was alive because of her. His kingdom was independent again after 400 years due to her. They were in peace and surrounded with hard-working, good people. All was because of her.

“After so many years, the North is free again.” The crowd cheered as King Eddard spoke. “A free north, an independent north, a peaceful north. However, still a young kingdom, filled with hope, dreams and energy to change and be a better place.”

He stopped, looking at his son, handsome with a full beard and shiny blue eyes, next to his bride, an exotic beauty, from a faraway place. She was tightly pressed in his chest, wide eyes in terror, afraid of what was to come. Good news, my sweet girl, only good news, he thought.

“We are old, my lords. We fought wars, won battles. We saw dynasties falling and new ones rising. We are tired and hopeless but our sons and daughters are here. Ready to start a new chapter, a new kingdom, a new life, a new north.”

He could see them, bright eyes due to the wine, a shy smile in their faces, as they listened to his speech. He could see the Manderly girls by their father side, Wylla’s green hair shinning towards him, her intelligent eyes absorbing what was happening around her. She was two years older than Sansa, ready for a match. On the other side, he could see the Karstark boys: Harrion, Torrhen and Eddard, chugging mugs full of ale, a wicked smile on their lips, preparing for lots of fun.

Around Maege, there were the Mormont girls: ferocious and wild, exotic and dangerous, even little Lyanna, two and ten years of age, munching the bread in her hands, eyes darting around the party. The Blackwood boys were by their side, trying to charm the Bear girls, failing miserably. Even Smalljon, the senior of the Umbers, was having fun, watching the failed attempts of Brynden wooing Dacey.

They were the new North. And should be ruled by their equal.

He walked towards his son, opening his way in a sea of people, placing his hand over Robb’s shoulder.

“And I hope that my son, Robb, is capable to lead this kingdom towards a new era. I abdicate from the throne and bestow it to my son and heir, wishing that my lords and ladies, alike, will support his claim.”

Ned smiled towards the couple but Haelena’s eyes were wide and frightened and her lips were saying a muted “no”. The silence was around the hall, stunned and speechless, the northerners unable to say a word. The crackle of the fire could be heard and the clatter of cups and plates, awkwardly being used by the guests.

“We will always be true to the Starks, no matter who sits on the throne.” Said Maege Mormont. “I’ve hold you in my arms, Your Grace, but you’re a man of twenty years of age, married and, if the gods bless you, with a child soon along the way. We trust you, as we trust your father. The King of Winter!” Exclaimed Maege Mormont, surrounded by her daughters, clad in ringmail as if ready to the battle.

“The Young Wolf!” Shouted Rickard Karstark, his sons and daughter bending a knee to the ground.

“The King of the North!” Cheered Greatjon and Smalljon Umber, taking his sword from the sheath and placing on the ground, for his new king.

Suddenly, lords and ladies alike were bending the knee for young Robb Stark, a twenty-year old boy and his bride, a foreign dragon princess. Boltons, Blackwoods, Cassels, Cerwyns, Flints, Glovers, Manderlys, Pooles and even Reeds, all alike, kneeling by the stone ground. Robb had a radiant smile in his face, but Haelena remained tense and horrified, her eyes darting towards Ned, begging for him to make it stop.

But it was too late for that and the lords continued shouting Robb’s name. He tried to say to her that there was nothing more he could do, but he couldn’t say anything under the roar of men. She was looking at Robb, who watched around in a stunned surprise. Noticing that they could not or would not try to do anything, she announced:

“Please, my lords.” Screamed the princess, making the shouts die. “I understand you vouching for my husband, Prince Robb, as he was born in these lands and was grown to be lord paramount. However, I’m a foreign princess, an unknown lady to you all, whose respect and admiration I didn’t win. How could I oblige your clamor towards my husband if you don’t vouch for me as well?” 

She waited, looking satisfied by her words, watching her surroundings with an eager eye, full of concern.

“Your Grace…” Said a small voice by the end of the Hall. “I vouch for you.”

It was Ser Wylis, heir to Lord Manderly, a fat man with a walrus mustache. Quiet and formal, he would never speak. Now, he was addressing to several lords and ladies.

“We received you when you first came from Valyria. And them when you came from Dorne to your marriage. The kindest soul I ever met.” He had tears in his eyes. “A gentle spirit, amiable, compassionate, frank, considerate, generous, courteous, courageous and so many more. A beauty outside and inside. A true Queen.”

She watched heads nodding in agreement, all very pleased with their new Queen, without blinking an eye. A voice came from the crowd exclaiming:

“Long live the Queen of Winter! Long live the King of Winter!”

The cheers resumed as Ned watched her good daughter look at her subjects with sheer horror in her face, finally realizing that something must be wrong. And it was all his fault.

— —

“Your Grace…” Said the princess in a hushed tone. After the clamor of voices accepting she and Robb as the new king and queen of the north, she went by their tables, talking to her new subjects, a wide smile in her face that didn’t reach her eyes. “I must talk to your father.”

Robb looked at her, intrigued, while escorting her towards their table. The feast was coming to an end: several women had retired to their chambers and the men were drunk or sleepy on the tables, apparently forgotten about the bedding tradition.

“It’s nearly time for us to go up to our chamber.” He said, blushing slightly. “You should rest a bit, The evening was very long.”

“In a minute, Your Grace. I need to speak to him, before it’s too late.” Her voice was a whisper and she appeared tired.

“If you must.” Said Robb, not very pleased with her insistence. She was supposed to be happy. More than happy, radiant, as she was the new Queen. Not only any Queen: The Queen of the North, respected and loved by her subjects, with good lands, fertile one’s, where she and he would rule with an iron fist, but a compassionate one. “I will meet you in an hour.”

She nodded and went towards King Eddard. Lord Eddard, she corrected herself. Although not a king anymore, he was still Lord of Winterfell. He was waiting for her, as he saw her sheer terror as the clansmen cheered their new queen and king. He had questions, obviously, and if the gods were just, he would have a plan to make everything right again.

He took her hand in his and escorted her towards her solar, where many servants were waiting to change their lady for her wedding night. She mumbled them something about leaving them be and wait for her at the bedchamber, but she paid no mind. Her brain was working fast, trying to find what to say, how to explain.

“Your Grace, you are clearly distressed. What happened?” He took her to a comfortable chair, kneeling in front of her, watching with worried eyes her lips pressed together. A moment of silence took them, embracing the lord and his new Queen.

“My Lord, I can’t be Queen. And Robb cannot be King.” She murmured, licking her dried lips. “I’ve seen this scenario in the fire: if Robb is King, he will die.”

The blood left Lord Stark’s face, as he realized what he had done. How could he be so stupid? How could he not have consulted his will with the girl? He was so excited by the prospect of giving to her the highest gift he thought, a gift in honor of her help and courage in driving them towards freedom with safety.

“Why didn’t you tell me this?” He asked, his words stuck in his throat. “If I have known…”

“You were the King. Every noble in the North admires you, my Lord. I never thought that you would dismiss the crown for him. For us.” She paused, frenetic eyes in her face. “He is so young, so naïve. That is his weak point and it will be his doom.”

He coughed, getting up and walking towards the fireplace.

“What did you saw exactly?” He asked, looking at the flames, wishing that they could show him the future as well.

“You were dead. King Joffrey had killed you, after you were considered a traitor of the realm. The northerner nobles had chosen Robb as their King, to seek revenge for your death and free the North from the Lannister grip. He was a great king and had won several battles, but he got clumsier. He started to lose men and the confidence of his banners. Lady Catelyn meddled with his affairs and, at last, he broke a vow.” She stopped, her mind lost in the shadows she conjured from the flames. “The Frey’s killed him, with the help of Lord Bolton, after Robb broke his betrothal to marry a minor noble girl, a Westerling from the Westerlands.”

Lord Stark remained in silence, waiting for her to continue, but there was nothing more she could add. That was that: the tragic end of King Robb, a joyful king, a young king, a competent king.

A dead king.

“You were not his wife.” Pointed Eddard, turning away from the fire, hope in his eyes. “He was married to this Jeyne. Can’t you see, my lady?” He asked, kneeling on the ground again and taking her hands in his. “With you by his side, with you counseling him, he cannot commit the same mistakes he would have.”

Haelena was still skeptical, eyes darting around the room.

“My Lord, he is the master of his own will. I may help him with his matters, but I can’t command his actions… I… really… I’m just a girl.” She lost her words.

“No, my dear. You are so much more than just a girl. You once asked me to trust you. And I said I would, above everything else. I trust you, Haelena Stark. I have confidence that you will maintain my son alive for me.”

“Lord Stark, please, don’t ask me this…” But he was already kissing her hands, leaving the room in big strides, his chest light without the doubt that pondered in his head when he first entered this room with the new Queen. However, Haelena felt empty and afraid, the weight of the world in her shoulders and the trust of this good man in her hands.

— —

Jon was still by the same spot where he discovered his princess was now a Queen. The same spot where he watched her face fill with horror, looking for King Eddard. The men were drunk, singing joyfully some old song with wrong lyrics, or in deep slumber by the tables and benches, their soft snoring echoing in the stone walls. Many candles were already extinguished, the wax slowly dripping on the floor, wrapping the Hall in a gloomy mood. He was drunk as well, losing his grip from reality, his mind running through so many memories…

“Lord Snow…” He heard a voice next to him. It came from a blond man with a moustache, a man Jon met at the courtyard the other day, the same man that told him Haelena was by the weirwood tree.

Jon could only hear the crackle of the fireplace and his own breathing, while Viserys twisted his moustache, lost in thought. Crossing his arms, he looked at the Lord Commander and waited for a long time. They stayed, side by side, quietly, listen to the low buzz coming from the few guests still celebrating the wedding. Jon felt the man’s presence by his side, constant and reassuring, like a warm breeze or a gentle bay horse. Suddenly, driven by this weird feeling of understanding, Jon started to talk.

“I couldn’t be with her.” Jon whispered finally, so low that he thought that only the spirits could hear him. “I love her, I do, deeply. But she was promised to Robb and I didn’t wish to break my vows to the Night’s Watch. And now…” He stopped, eyes lost on the bright piece of wood in the fireplace, slowly burning where once stood a warm fire. “Now I’m not so sure anymore. I can run away with her. I can grab her and take her to Essos. Or somewhere beyond the wall. We could be together and I would not need to feel all this pain.”

The silence took over them once more and Jon felt like a weight was lifted from his body. He closed his eyes and felt how good it was to be free from lies and fears.

“Yes, you could.” Viserys stopped, looking for words. “But we both know that this alliance needs to be sealed.”

Jon looked at the short man, while saying:

“Haelena said to me she saw the dead beyond the wall. I have seen them as well. That’s why she needs to marry Robb?” He paused. “They are coming, aren’t they?”

The Valyrian looked at the Lord Commander, sadness in his purple eyes:

“Yes.”

Jon nodded and stood quietly starring at the night sky through the stained window. The stars seemed huge and bold in their own light. They were showing to the humans that they were magnificent as well the other heavenly bodies, deserving of their awe and amazement.

“I wouldn’t let them come here. I would never let them break the Wall and march towards the North. She doesn’t need Robb’s army or protection. My men can handle the dead.”

Viserys played with the candle flame, his digits poking and nudging it, without feeling the pain of burns or stings.

“I don’t know how Hel see things in the flames, my lord. I don’t know how sure she is of the events she saw in the long Valyrian nights. However, one thing I’m sure: how could your men defend these lands from the dead when their Lord Commander is missing from duty, hiding beyond the wall or escaping King Robb’s army in Essos because he broke his vows to run away with the Queen of the North? Who they would follow when the time come? What would happen with Haelena if King Robb found you?”

He paused, looking at the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.

“If you leave the Wall, you will be committing treason, my Lord. You will be caught and will be hanged. If King Robb is merciful, you will be decapitated. Robb may be your brother and a great friend, but he is just and honorable. He would not forget his duty to his own kingdom. And then what? Haelena would be a widow, if you could find any priest with enough courage to marry legally you two without enraging the King. Alone in strange lands, set aside by the Starks, she would come back to Valyria, ashamed of her actions, unable to act as she was told since she was a child. She wouldn’t have any power in Westeros. She will be an outcast and will watch the fall of the Starks.”

Jon passed his hands through his abundant hair and turned his gaze to Viserys.

“Without you commanding the Wildlings and the Night’s Watch men, the dead will come with full force. They will come destroying everything along the way and the northerners wouldn’t be prepared for their arrival, as Robb wouldn’t have listened to your warnings concerning the treat approaching him. Every creature in Westeros will be dead in a week and soon the dead will find a way to cross the Narrow Sea. Maybe we can keep them outside Valyria’s gates. But how this is a good scenario, considering that we will be alone in the world, trapped within our own walls, getting old and dying without any children to tell our story?”

Viserys was out of breath, his hands trembling with the thought of loneliness and chaos.

“How can you take her in your arms and run with her, knowing that, by doing this, you’re condemning the world?”

Jon felt the tears running down his face, knowing that it didn’t matter how much he loved Haelena. Or how he was tempted to forget their vows just to ease the pain in his chest.

He couldn’t steal her away, together with her future. She deserved to live and be loved. She deserved to see the northerner lights again, see the green meadows when spring comes, see her children playing by the warm waters next to the weirwood tree. She deserved to see the hunters coming from the Wolfswood, singing in joyfulness. She deserved to take the King’s Road and see the crannogmen swamps. She deserved this and so much more.

And, with a sob, being held by the blond Valyrian, he felt his future with her vanish under his lids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thanks for reading, commenting and thanks for all the kudos!!
> 
> Let's talk about this chapter, shall we?
> 
> I knew from the start that Ned would never be satisfied with his position as king. He is a very private man, tired from the wars and battles, that had seen too much sorrow in one lifetime. So, when I realized that Haelena saved his life and his family, it occurred to me that Ned would show his appreciation giving to his son and his new wife the ultimate prize: the kingdom.
> 
> Hel still fears for Robb's destiny and is really worried about this gift. For Ned, they should have no troubles, as she already corrected the wrong doings of the past. However, as many have warned the princess before, the Lord of Light talk through strange manners.
> 
> I needed to find a confidant for Jon, someone who would give him support but, as well, give him advice. i though of Viserys, Haelena's brother in law as someone fit for the job. I really liked the interaction, despite always dreading to see Jon sad :(
> 
> Now, are you ready for the bedding?
> 
> Please, excuse any english mistakes that I committed, as English is not my first language.
> 
> I will be posting a new chapter every friday! Yay!


	14. Of Fire and Blood

“My lady.” A voice said from behind, making her shiver under her light nightgown. Her hair was down, cascading through her back in gleaming waves of chestnut brown. Her body was covered by a translucent silk, white as the moon outside her chamber, allowing the night air to touch her skin underneath it. Her feet were bare and cold underneath the linen sheets in the huge canopy bed she was laying, waiting for her new husband.

Her mother and sister had bathed her and combed her hair, putting the new nightgown over her head and closing with a loop the deep neckline and the sleeves. For some time, she roamed around the room, touching the velvet curtains, feeling the heated stones under her feet. However, her heart was beating incredibly fast and, at last, she decided to wait for Robb by the bed, protected by the many layers of fur.

Robb was crossing the door that separated their chambers, wearing a mid-calf smock of linen. He walked like a man approaching a beast, waiting for her to attack or to flee in panic. Considering how loud her heart was beating, if she could, she was already running fast through the halls.

Suddenly aware of the transparency of her gown, she slid down the pillows, pulling the fur over her breast, up until her chin, covering what was barely covered by the silk. Under the huge canopy bed, she seemed smaller than she already was, especially with her doe like eyes increased in size due to her fear.

He sat by her side, trying to take her hand in his. But her hands were closed tightly around the covers and he could not release her grip from them.

“I know that you are scared. But there’s nothing to be scared about, I promise you.” He murmured to her, his fingers gently stroking her uncovered cheek.

Haelena knew exactly what would happen to her and the thought of the human interaction didn’t make her afraid of what was to come. She surrendered her body every night to Jon, waiting for the sweet bliss she felt between her legs when he touched her and kissed her, the way her toes would curl in hunger when he was inside her, the way she would move her hips to be closer, nearer, faster, tighter.

However, the man by her side wasn’t Jon.

“Did your mother told you what happen between a man and a woman?” Robb asked in a low voice, his hands cupping her warm cheek. She opened her mouth to answer but nothing left her lips and she closed them again in panic.

“Your mother told me that your bothers married for love, is that right?” He asked gently, taking a strand of her hair between his digits and stroking with care. “She said that it’s not common to marry for duty in your family.”

He stopped, placing the strand behind her ear.

“I imagine that it must be difficult to you, see what they have with their wives and to not feel the same way.” He said, scratching his beard in lost thoughts.

The moonlight was pouring light over the stone floor. Standing next to her in bed, Robb was more handsome than ever, his reddish hair looking like ember and his eyes a greyish blue, the same color as Lord Eddard’s. And Jon.

She lost her breath for a second, closing her eyes and sliding even more down the sheets. She could not think of him. Not now.

“Look at me, my lady. Please.”

She listened to Robb’s voice so low, so gentle… He was being so patient with her, imagining that she was a poor virgin, unprepared for her new role as a wife and mother. How could she lay with him, knowing that she was entering in this marriage with a lie?

“Haelena.”

He said her name and she could feel the pain in his words. He didn’t know what else to do with her. He tried everything. She opened her eyes and saw him with his hand extended towards her, waiting for her.

Courage, Haelena, she thought. Courage. You were born for this. You are the princess that was promised, you are Azor Ahai, you will save the world from the darkness, you will lay with the grey wolf and continue your family tradition.

Be brave.

She took his hand in hers, accepting his invitation and leaving the confines of her pillows. The covers fell down her chest and he watched her body covered in silk. Haelena saw his face, eyes changing in color, turning a bright blue, like the summer sky in Dorne.

He caressed her lips, his digits traveling with care through her skin, watching the rosy shade he so much adored. His hands traveled to her soft cheeks, pale and delicate like peaches, to the contour of her eyebrows. He took her heavy hair in his hands, the fingers grasping the strands and feeling the smoothness in his skin. Robb felt the contour of her neck, the delicate curve of her collarbone, the width of her shoulders, the length of her arms, the softness of her own hands.

He was looking directly at her, so fresh and new, and Haelena felt like she was holding ice between her fingers. She felt her breath stir slightly and she tried to count her inhales and exhales.

“My lady.” Robb started to say, licking his lips, trying to organize his thoughts. “I know that we are strangers to each other. I don’t know even what is your favorite color or what you do when you are bored or…”

“Red.” Haelena said slowly. “My favorite color is red. And, when I’m bored, I like to sing. Actually, I sing when I’m happy as well. I really do like to sing.”

Robb smiled and she saw a little dimple appear in his chin and she thought that was so unusual. Slowly she touched the dent, making Robb take her hand in his, with uttermost care, kissing every finger with the softest lips.

“I cannot say that I love you.” He said to Haelena, eyes watching her closely.

“Me neither.” She said in return. He smiled, a quick and spontaneous smile that made him gleam like the sum.

And, placing her warm hand in his heart, he leaned in to kiss her.

— —

She was hot like a summer day under his hands and he could feel the sweat dripping down his forehead. She was very still, her hands placed in his chest, her lips timid in his, her breath shivering in her throat.

Oh gods, he needed some fresh air.

Robb took her feverish body in his arms and pushed her slowly towards the pillows. Her eyes were huge in her face, like the moon outside, waiting in panic to the final act of her wedding night.

He continued to kiss her, licking her lips, asking Haelena to let him enter her mouth with his tongue. She halted in surprise feeling this new sensation against her lips and he breathed slowly, controlling the urge to take her mouth in his and make her moan in surprise. She is a lady, he thought, gently embracing her, feeling the sun itself through his smock.

He continued with gentle kisses over her neck, reassuring her of his presence. He did not know much about maids and high-born ladies in general. He was used to the milkmaids and the common whores from the village. However, he knew about horses and how to ease them when scared. Robb kept caressing her skin while whispering sweet nothings in her ears.

It seemed to sooth her, as she released her hands from his smock placing them in his hair, her fingers twisting between the curls. Her legs were spread shyly under the pressure of his hands, accommodating Robb’s body between them. Lastly, she closed her eyes with a sigh, turning her lips to him.

He placed a chaste kiss over them and they moved shyly with his, searching and tasting his mouth. Her hands were caressing his locks and he could feel her body twist slightly under his. The little movement of her hips were almost enough to lose his composure, making Robb kiss her with eagerness, take her in a single movement and make her cry with passion.

No, Robb, he thought. She is a maid, never kissed. Have patience, my boy.

His neck and back were damp with sweat and he never felt so hot. Stopping his kiss, he pushed the smock upwards, throwing it far away from the bed, placing his naked body over her. He needed to get fresh air, he needed a cold bath or ice over his skin. He needed a cold breeze or the freezing sea near White Harbor.

Working his way, he pushed down the covers and pulled up her thin nightgown over her hips, watching her pale skin mix with the mount of hair near her entrance. His sweat was over the silk in her breasts, making them show under the fabric, round and rosy, the nipples hard and ready to his mouth.

But not now. Not today. She would be shocked feeling his lips in her breasts. Surely, a high-born lady would never allow such things in her bedchamber. And most importantly, he needed fresh air, dear gods. He was holding tightly to a bonfire and joyfully watching his skin burn like ember under the princess soft hands, surrounded by the sun that came from her thighs, diving inside molten lava as he placed his member in her entrance and pushed his way.

She gasped, suddenly aware of what was happening. She was so tight, and Robb could hear her grunt every time he pushed inside her in slow motions, braking her virtue and claiming for himself.

Oh, dear gods, he thought. She was so hot. Hotter than outside, hotter than the sun. He felt her thighs embracing him, her hands clasping in his locks, her lids closed tightly and her head turned to the side, showing the beautiful pale skin in her neck. Robb kissed there gently, moving over her, listening to her soft moans, so low that he almost couldn’t hear at all.

With a final push, he spilled his seed inside her, moving away from the feverish body that was his now on. He watched his Queen by his side, closed eyes, lips red as roses, her nipples showing under her wet garments, her shallow breath, the gown tangled over her hips, her legs slowly closing back to how it was supposed to be proper.

He wished to take her in his arms, hold her until she was fast asleep, kissing her hair and smelling the sweet perfume of her own sweat. Was this proper, though? His mother had a very serious conversation about boundaries and wifely duties to him and was very strict about the necessity of two separate bedchambers. Even though he wished to forget about propriety at this hour, Haelena was still burning slowly by his side, like the ambers of a forgotten bonfire.

Oh, gods, he thought. Would she be hot like this every moment?

“Something is wrong, my lord?” She asked quietly, pushing her gown over her naked legs.

“Nothing, my lady. Rest well. Tomorrow we will talk more.” Robb answered, covering her gently with the furs.

She closed her eyes again, the slumber taking hold of her body, while Robb watched her from the other side of the bed, caressing her hair and thinking about his new life. Now, he was a King, a married man, with a beautiful Queen, generous and charismatic, that tasted like summer days and felt like the sun itself.

When he noticed that she was dreaming, he sighed pleased. She would be well. Everything would turn out alright. He just needed some patience. And taking his smock from the floor, he walked towards his own room, thinking about his next visit to her, leaving the new queen mumbling a name in the middle of the night.

“Jon.”

— —

Haelena woke up dizzy and tired. She opened one eye, adjusting her vision to the new surroundings, seeing the pulled velvet curtains around her and the small crack between them, that made the white light come to her.

On the other side of the bed, where Robb’s sleepy body should’ve been, there were only cold sheets and furs. She closed briefly her eyes, memories coming to her lids, sensations overwhelming her in every way possible.

She remembered the way he touched her, so gentle and tender, like a porcelain that was going to break with the mere touch of masculine hands. He had sweet eyes and touched her with utmost care. However, under his lips, she felt lonely and lost, unwilling to go on with her wedding night.

And he took her. He took her like a husband should take his wife, a high-born maiden lady and queen nonetheless. Robb, the King of the North, the son of Eddard Stark, touched her with soft fingers in the most proper places, wooded her with a very lovely set of words and kissed her in a very chaste manner.

Still, he took her not as a man take a woman, with passion and lust. She was a mere problem to be taken care of, a beauty nonetheless, but a wife that shall be impregnated very soon.

Shocked, half naked in her silk nightgown, she kept with the farce. She realized that, if she pushed her mind far enough, Robb’s short reddish locks became long strands of black hair, tied in his nape. And if she closed her eyes and brought the memories back, deep from the days together coming to Winterfell, she could pretend that the man taking her was Jon.

She pushed the sheets over her head, feeling ashamed of herself. How could she do it? She pretended that it was Lord Snow’s mouth that kissed her lips and his hands that caressed her legs. However, Jon used to kiss her and touch her until she was soft and languid with emotions, her entrance moist and swollen, waiting for him. He would squeeze her and grasp her bottom, he would say obscenities in her ears and make her moan with the mere thought of his skin in hers.

Robb, sweating over her trembling body, didn’t take much time to see if his bride was ready to be taken. She simply felt his member entering her and the sudden pain she felt with his movements. Suddenly it was over and he was rolling to the other side, wet and tired.

Although he was charming and sweet, asking her to sleep (which she gladly did, being tired from the day), she couldn’t help but notice that he was not so willing to touch her. And alone in that huge bed, without anyone by her side, sore and tired, her heart ached for the tight embraces and the touch of hands it was so used to.

She got up, finally, walking carefully through her new room. She could see, over the table, a full breakfast, with warm soft breads, yellow butter, honey, blueberry jam and bacon. She could see, as well, fried eggs, cheese and black tea with crackers. Outside, Haelena could hear horses and people talking, guests leaving after the festivities.

The new Queen approached the window with care, lifting the curtains carefully, eyes watching the men by the courtyard. Next to a big black stud, there was Ghost, sitting calmly. She could see his red eyes watching her directly, his nose sniffing the air.

She could see Edd Tollet and Sam Tarly preparing a wagon, probably with food and materials for the Wall. By their side, there was Robb, red hair glistening under the dim sun. It was snowing and the snowflakes covered gently the horses and the soil, making the dirt transform in clay.

There was Jon next to Lord Eddard, talking in hushed tones, the heads close to each other. Jon was so beautiful under the white snow, his dark clothes denouncing his presence. He seemed tired, dark circles under his eyes, the mouth downturned in a frown.

He was going back to the Wall.

As the Queen of the North, she should go there and say her farewells, by her husband side. However, as a new bride, it was expected of her to be in bed nearly all day, recovering from her wedding night. That was why Robb didn’t wake her up to greet their guests. Or why the maid didn’t wake her up to take the breakfast.

Or why Jon was leaving so soon.

He knew, she realized. He woke his companions early in the day and prepared their departure so that the Queen could not say her goodbyes. For him not see her as the wife of his brother. He was giving her a chance to begin again and forget.

But how could she forget?

“Jon, you fool.” She murmured against the glass. “I would never let you suffer alone. If I must break your heart, you shall brake mine as well.”

As called by the unknown, he turned his head suddenly from the conversation, his eyes darting towards her. His grey eyes were fixed in hers, gazing deeply her own soul. She placed her fingers in the glass, trying to reach his figure faraway, touching his skin once again. One last time.

Jon gave a little smirk, his face getting brighter than the sun. He reached his hand towards her and then placed over his heart. He closed his bright eyes for a moment, enjoying the moment, and when he opened again, Haelena was with her own eyes closed, her fingers over her trembling lips, her tears running down her pale cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Thanks for all the views, comments and kudos!!
> 
> Let's talk about this chapter, shall we?
> 
> I really liked writing Robb and Hel's bedding. I truly imagine Robb being too worried to be extremely careful with his new bride and listening to all Catelyns nonsense about propriety and marriage. I tried to show, in the first part, the innocence with which he approached her, how honest he was with his feelings and how tense Hel was feeling on that first moment.
> 
> I tried to show in the second part how Robb was trying so hard to be the best husband possible (and for that, he understood as just doing the bedding as quickly as he could, making this less painful for his, oh-so-fragile wife). I had too much fun for my own good imagining how he was going to feel next to a girl hotter than usual, prettier than any girl in those lands and a queen, nonetheless. Poor, Robb. You can blame me for all your misery during this affair hahahaha.
> 
> I really liked, as well, writing Hel's reflection about the night's events and how she understood Robb's care and delicacy. I really enjoyed writing Jon and Hel's last scene (maybe? who knows?), in which they say goodbye, knowing that they will never really leave each others heart. It gave me a warm feeling, despite being so sad.
> 
> Now, do Robb will remain treating Hel like a delicate flower or will his lust take over him?
> 
> Please, excuse any english mistakes that I committed, as English is not my first language.
> 
> I will be posting a new chapter every friday! Yay!


	15. Of past and future wars

“If I understand correctly, my lord… You are threatening me. A king.” Robb paused, scratching his beard and looking straight to the man in front of him. Lord Davos Seaworth stood very tall and still, his hands on his side, like a soldier waiting for orders.

“This is not a threat, Your Grace. In any manner, whatsoever.” Said the tired man.

“Explain to me, Lord Davos, as I clearly do not comprehend what you are saying.” Robb said, resting his chin in his own hand. “You come to me and ask for a meeting, a private audience, where you say to me that your King, Lord Stannis, requires my troops in his war with King Joffrey and, if I not oblige to his request, he would stop the exportation of grain from the Reach to the North.”

“No, Your Grace.” Lord Davos seemed confused, trying to escape the trap he built for himself. “I merely said that King Stannis asked for your support in his war, considering that he fights for the honor of his family, especially for his brother’s honor, who was your namesake.”

“My lord, the motives that King Stannis used to enter in this war are weak. He claims that his nephews were born from corruption and incest between the Queen and her own brother. However, I do not see proof of this.” King Robb crossed his arms in his chest. “Or every blond-haired child in King’s Landing is also a child from Cersei and the Kingslayer?”

“No, Your Grace. However, I…” Lord Davos began to say, but was interrupted by the red-haired man.

“Clearly, King Stannis was very unsatisfied by the Lannister influence towards his nephews and decide to take the matter in his own hands, the best way he could think of: claiming the crown himself.” Robb paused, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s understandable, Your Grace. The Lannisters are not only the family with all the economic power. They have the political power as well. This is very dangerous.” Said the old sailor, finally taking his hands from his sides and placing them crossed in front of his body.

“I agree. However, as an independent state, I prefer to not meddle in my neighbor’s affairs. It may cost my freedom.” Robb stood straight in his chair as he continued to speak. “And, frankly, I do not like the presence of the Red Witch as a counselor for the King.”

Lord Davos furrowed his brows as he said:

“Many would say that your wife is a Red Witch as well.”

That made Robb stand up from his chair, placing his flat hands over the surface of his table.

“My Lord, if my wife is versed in the faith of the Lord of the Light, is none of your business. I would appreciate, very much, if you keep her away from your conspiracy plots.” He sighed, calming himself. “You must agree with me, my lord, that King Stannis only entered in this lost war because of the Red Witch. Many men told me that she says he is the… Chosen one? Whatever it means.”

Lord Davos closed his eyes for a moment, cursing the Red Witch and her nonsense. He detested her and believed, truly, she was a bad influence for his king. But he simply couldn’t leave him by his own means. He was there, serving Stannis Baratheon, to protect him. The same man that protect the old smuggler from himself.

“Yes, Your Grace. I do agree. However, we are at war now and we must win. The North would be a strong ally and King Stannis promised that a deal could be made between houses.”

Robb smirked slightly, walking to the window.

“If I not join you in this cause, my men at the Wall will die of hunger. If I accept, King Stannis in willing to marry his daughter to my brother? To Bran?”

Lord Davos paused, searching for words.

“The Reach is King Stannis ally. After such a war and many losses, it would be difficult to provide the same amount of grains for the same price. Surely, Your Grace understand the need to increase the prices.” He paused, watching Robb’s grin. “And yes, I believe that King Stannis is willing to marry Princess Shireen to Prince Bran. It would be a fine match.”

Robb sighed, closing his eyes and squeezing the bridge of his nose.

“Winter is coming, Lord Davos. Food is needed.” He paused. “A fine match indeed. The cripple boy and the flaky girl…”

“She is a very smart and gentle little girl, Your Grace.” Said Lord Davos, as he was offended himself.

Closing his arms over his chest, Robb said:

“I’m sorry, my lord. I did not intend to be rude, especially towards a young girl. I need time to think.”

Lord Davos nodded shortly.

“That will not be a problem, Your Grace. I will go to the Wall with Lord Snow and I’ll be back in a moon or so. By then I expect to have an answer.” He held out his hand to the king and waited.

Robb looked at the short fingers and the callous hand.

“Of course.” He reached for Davo’s hand and shook firmly. “Now, if you may allow me to take you towards my brother. I believe his waiting by the courtyard.”

— —

“Jon.” Said a voice behind him, while he supervised the preparations to part from Winterfell. He turned around and saw his father, Lord Eddard Stark.

He continued to fit the saddle in his black stud, ignoring the erratic beating of his heart. The last time he saw his father, more than three years after, Lord Eddard said that, next time they would meet, he would talk about Jon’s mother.

And now he was there.

“I know what I said to you last time…” Ned started, but was interrupted by his son.

“Let me guess: it’s still not the right time to talk about her.” Jon said, angrily, turning to face his old man.

“Jon, please.” Said the lord, exasperated. “You do not understand.”

“No, father. I do.” He said, softly. “I now understand this better than ever. I know how is difficult to revive happy memories, knowing they would only stay in your mind, for only you to see.”

Ned appeared lost and hurt as he said:

“They are not happy memories.”

Jon watched his father’s grey eyes gleaming with the truth behind the lenses and he knew he was not lying to him.

“So, what? You were full of lust after a battle and decided to take the first wench you saw in front of you? You invaded a Targaryen castle and raped the beautiful maiden daughter of the sire? And nine moons later, she appeared at your door, with a babe in her arms, asking for help?” Jon took the brush and start to untangle the horse mane.

“You know that I would never do such a thing.” Said the lord, walking towards his son.

“I know. I know you would never touch a maid or break your marriage vows. That’s why everything is so strange. What made you forget your goddamned honor, bed a girl and bring home a baby that was not your wife’s?” Jon throw away the brush, that hit the stable door and made a loud thud. He took the reins, despite the horse’s agitation, and walked with him towards the courtyard, where Sam and Edd were already preparing the wagon.

“Jon, you’re not being reasonable.” Said Lord Eddard, as they arrived near the white beast that the lord commander called Ghost.

“Am I not being reasonable?” Asked furiously the bastard. “I spent twenty years trying to understand why I was so despised by everyone around the castle. I dreamt about my mother, a gentle lady that loved you and had given me to you so that I could have a better life. I wished that you loved her, loved her more than you loved Lady Catelyn. And now you tell me that you were not happy with her? That you felt nothing towards hers?”

They were now very close to each other, whispering furiously, their heads bent so that no one could hear them.

“I did love her. She was beautiful, kind and courageous. She had spirit and loved flowers. She was my best friend.” Ned stopped, tears filling his grey eyes. “I loved her but she brought me sorrow. So much that I cannot think about it.”

Jon seemed frustrated, passing his hand through his black locks.

“Father. Please. Just tell me her name. I just need this.”

Ned looked at him, eyes fixed in his son’s grey eyes, so similar to his. And her’s. He appeared to consider tell the truth, to scream the secret to all willing to hear. It would be easier and would lift a very heavy weight from his chest. If he told Jon, he would be able to tell Cat. She would understand, of course. And would be kinder to the boy. To the man, he corrected himself.

Jon now was a man, Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. He was not the tiny babe he held in his hands in the warm dornish night. He was so small he feared that the boy would die in his arms, his skin so pale that he could see the blood flowing in blue motions. He would not cry or complain: he would only stare Ned with his huge grey eyes, reading his father’s soul.

Robert was not here anymore, searching for them, killing them. He could not blame the poor man, having his heart broken so suddenly. In his mind, it was the right thing to do. But Ned needed to protect his family, needed to protect the tiny babe in his hands.

The lord halted, as his son’s huge grey eyes left his face and turned upside, towards the castle. By the window, there was the new Queen, pale in her silk nightgown, hair running down her chest, her fingers touching the glass window.

Jon tried to escape from her grasp, to avoid seeing her after her wedding night. He spent the whole day imagining she and Robb together, wishing the new king would treat her with kindness, wishing he would be gentle with her, dreading the thought of her pleasure under Robb’s fingers. And now she was there, bright and sad eyes watching him.

He couldn’t help but smile, thinking about her body next to his, about her wide grin and her bright eyes, her sweet voice and the curve of her neck. He reached for her hand and, then, placing his own hand in his heart. She would be there, forever. She placed her fingers in her lips, sending him a vailed kiss.

Watching his son exchange gestures with his good daughter, suddenly, Ned understood. And he knew he would have to keep his secret still confided in his depths. Just for a little while still.

— —

They have gone away. Jon and Edd and Sam, taking Lord Davos to the Wall. The afternoon was followed by a number of ladies wishing her the best of luck in her marriage, while her husband held meetings with the lords. Even when many of them left, like the Manderlys, the Mormonts and the Karstarks, Robb still remained busy, visiting the tenants and talking with the servants. Haelena would have to wait for the evening.

She closed her eyes in dread.

Walking aimlesly in her new grey gown, cut in the westerosi way, she saw little Bran Stark sat by the weirwood tree. He had his hands placed over the white trunk, his eyes lost and blank in the orbits. Covered in furs and wool, he appeared to be the child he was and not the supernatural being he was meant to be.

“Bran?” She asked softly, fearing to wake him up from his stupor.

His eyes rolled back to the orbits and his hands felt on his lap. Turning his face, he looked straight to her, waiting for her to approach the tree. She lifted slightly her skirts, feeling the embroidery in her fingers, her little furrowed boots sinking on the fresh snow.

“It is time.” He said. “For me to go. To meet the three-eyed raven.”

She took his hands in hers, feeling the cool skin over her gloves.

“If you feel you are ready, I will talk with Meera and Jojen and request their company. I will talk with Ser Harry to come with you, as a personal guard and…” But the little boy interrupted her.

“No. I just need the Reeds, Summer and Arya.”

She halted immediately, tilting her head and running her fingers in Bran’s brown locks. She didn’t understand entirely his reasoning towards his traveling party

“If you are sure, my dear. I will talk with her and arrange the journey.” Her mind was racing through subjects, thinking about what she needed to arrange. Food, four steady horses, blankets and furs. They will need water flasks and instruments to find their way in the woods.

“Will you talk to mother?” He suddenly asked, making her head return to the present.

“I do not now, my dear. Do you wish me to speak with Lady Catelyn and explain to her the situation?” She asked, watching him twist his fingers, anxiously.

“No. I would prefer if, later this week, I just vanish. If she knew you sent me to Beyond the Wall, she would blame you if anything happened to me.” He whispered, his breath making a fog in the air.

“Nothing will happen to you, Bran.” She said, softly, taking the small child in her arms. He was so little, no more than ten and two years of age, holding her grey cotton cape in his tiny hands.

“You do not know that, Your Grace. You can’t see this in the fire.” He whispered in her neck, making her shiver. She remembered her night’s in the fire, squinting her eyes towards the flames, trying to discern the images coming from beyond the wall, directly from lands ruled by the undead.

She didn’t know what to answer. She couldn’t promise him to keep him safe through his journey. She already had too many promises laying in her heart, making her heavy with doubts. She tried her best:

“You will have Arya.”

He smiled between the drapes of her gown, bright and joyful. Arya may be tiny but she was a soldier born and ready.

“That’s enough for me.” He said, laughing.

She laughed as well, holding his body between her arms and smelling his chestnut hair, filled with joy. She felt happy and safe with him next to her, being able to hold that child and assure her that she cared. She not only cared, but she would do everything in her reach to bring this boy back to his home.

She felt a warm breath in her ear and she turned to see orange eyes staring at her. Summer licked her warm cheek and she smiled under the soft and moist tongue. He wagged his huge tail and approached his lord and master, sniffing in his hair and licking his ears.

“Alright, alright, Summer.” Bran laughed, placing his hand behind the beast’s ears, stroking gently. “It’s time to go.”

Haelena raised her eyebrows, surprised, as she saw the wolf lay by the boy’s side, wearing a strange kind of saddle. It seemed to be a simple layer of leather around Summer’s belly. However, it had two leather strips, like belts. Bran passed his arms around the wolf’s neck, lifting with the force of his muscles, laying on the beasts back. He wiggled his little body a little bit, making his legs fell on each side of his body. His hands searched under him, retrieving the leather strips and tying them with care over his thighs. Giving the beast a little pat by its side, the big wolf got up, while the boy kept laying on its fur.

“You did this saddle, Bran?” She asked, patting the huge wolf in its head. He was so big, all the Stark’s wolfs were, towering easily a ten-year-old boy.

“No, Your Grace. It was Robb’s idea. He trained the wolfs as well. They run much faster than a normal horse and can carry a woman or a small man easily on their backs.” He patted again the beast’s neck and he flew away, holding tight on the chestnut fur, leaving Haelena out of breath, as she saw the huge wolf running like the wind towards the castle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Thanks for the comments and kudos! They really help with the writing!
> 
> Let's talk about this chapter, shall we?
> 
> Robb finds himself in a difficult situation: help Lord Stannis and face the fury of the Lannisters or don't help the old Lord and don't have grain to feed the Wall. It all depends on the outcome of the next battle. Will he ask Haelena for help? Will he face the consequences of a willing war? 
> 
> Jon and Ned, always tensed about Jon's mom. Will Ned ever tell Jon about his true parentage? What does Lord Robert have to do with it? Did Ned notice his bastard affection towards the new queen?
> 
> It's time to say good bye to little Bran! Such a warm child! I hope he remains the same and not the robot Bran we saw last season :(
> 
> Please, excuse any english mistakes that I committed, as English is not my first language.
> 
> I will be posting a new chapter every friday! Yay!


	16. Of days and nights

“I can’t believe you’re leaving grandma with me!” Complained Haelena to her family, as she watched the servants take her sister’s belongings out of her chamber’s. Viserys was finishing a letter to be sent to his new friend, Lord Snow, while the brothers were lounging in the solar, appearing more bored than ever. 

Aegon and Baelon were having a slow cyvasse match, being closed watched by Erik and Fenrir, both of them making bets against each brother. Corlys and Gael were sitting next to Daena, who was carefully folding a cape to fit in her trunk. Standing next to the door, enraged, was Haelena, her new grey dress making her bright rosy cheeks appear even more pink under her pale skin.

“Hel, dear, nobody can control what that lady does. She insisted with mother.” Said Daena, taking under Aegon’s body a piece of underclothing.

“Grandma wanted to stay here?” The new Queen gasped. “But… Dae, she hates Westeros. She vowed to never put a foot in here ever again.”

Aegon mumbled across the room, taking one of Baelon dragons in a winning move:

“Well, she is in here. Her two feet are in Westerosi territory and she didn’t say a thing about it.” 

Haelena exhaled, tired.

“You need to make her change her mind! I don’t need a _chaperone_! I’m a married lady!” She sat, defeated, by Corlys side.

“Not a thing in the world would make Lady Visenya change her mind, Hel.” Said her brother, giving to her a tiny apple pie covered in frosting. “I don’t think it’s such a bad thing to have her with you…”

All the sibling stopped their motions and looked to the chubby blond man licking with pleasure the white frost.

“We are talking about nana still?” Asked Fenrir, gobsmacked. “She is the devil in disguise, Corlys. She will make Hel’s life miserable.”

Erik stood up and, placing Daena’s shawl over his head, he said in a very high voice:

“ _That’s not how Queens behave, my dear. Remember, once I was Queen of Westeros and ruled with Aegon, the Conqueror._ ”

Erik took the shawl from his brother’s head and continued the mocking:

“ _No baby yet? You’re doing it wrong. You need to jump in a lava river and seduce your husband with your renewed beauty!_ ”

Even Aegon let a small laugh, while Baelon moved his elephants in the board.

“ _Don’t forget! You’re the salvation of your family and all our heritage remain in your tiny pretty hands. So, you better take that red-haired brute right now and put him in your bed or I’ll do it myself!”_

Now, it was a generalized laughter, making even Viserys turn around and look at the siblings. They were passing the shawl around, screeching nonsense that Lady Visenya would surely say one day to their younger sister.

“Well, I know it’s more fun to play cyvasse and mock your grandmother than help your wife with the trunks, but I’ll be very pleased with you if come this instant to, at least, help the stable boys placing them in the carriages.” Said a voice coming from the door. With gold hair and purple eyes, Rhaenys was the beautiful wife of Aegon, that stood laughing by the floor, the cyvasse forgotten next to him. “I suppose that all your wives are equally worried about the lack of masculine presence in their solars.”

Getting up, ashamed of themselves, the Zaldriz brothers left in a hurry, leaving Haelena and Daena all by themselves, with Viserys returning to his letter to the lord commander. The Queen munched a bit of the apple pie in her hand, but put it aside, as soon as possible, feeling the sickness come in waves due to the sugary treat. An awkward silence took over the room, while Visery’s feather scraped the paper and the birds sang by the balcony. The blond woman took her sister’s hand in hers and said, softly:

“With all the festivities and departures, my dear, I hadn’t time to ask you how it was.”

Haelena remained in muted silence, waiting for clarification from her sister.

“Your wedding night, Hel! And the other’s that came.”

Suddenly realizing what it meant, the Queen turned a bright shade of red, her eyes darting to her sister’s husband, so concentrated in his writings.

“He is not listening to us.” Insisted her sister. “Was he gentle?”

Haelena licked her lips, nervous, blinking many times before answering.

“Yes, very gentle. Most caring. I felt very appreciated in his arms. I shall be very… satisfied… during our union.”

Daena tilted her head, her eyes scanning her sister’s face, her brows furrowed in doubt.

“I would never imagine that this is phrase would come from a recently married lady. You do not seem, well, full of passion, my dear.”

“I can’t say I love him, Dae…” The Queen began to say, being interrupted by her sister.

“Well, love is one thing, Hel. Passion is other completely different. You didn’t feel your knees weaken in his presence, your heart beat faster with his touch, your skin claiming for him?”

A long pause was followed by a simple:

“I did enjoy very much his confidence in bed.”

Daena gave a high laugh.

“Dear Lord, my sister is a prude! Poor man!” Said the sister, her violet eyes shining with wickedness. “Well, I suppose that, with time, sharing a bed will make you more willing. And… Hel… please… Just try to enjoy. It’s not so bad once you get used to it. You’ve been married only for a fortnight. When the moon starts to fade in the sky, neither of you will be willing to get out of bed!”

— —

“I can’t leave you two here, all alone.” Complained Arya, as they prepared the horses in the middle of the night. She was wearing a tunic and breeches, long hunting boots and a leather doublet. Over her tiny body, a long dark grey cape, made from the softest wool Sansa could find.

“What could you do for us, Arya?” Whispered Sansa angrily at her sister, taking the copper locks of hair from her face, as she placed a saddle over a bay horse. “Haelena is a queen now, married to Robb and protected by her own Queensguard. And I have father to look for me. We will be fine.”

Arya turned to her, brows furrowed in irritation and hissed in return:

“They are only _men_ , Sansa.”

A stunned silence took over them, while the three girls stared at each other. Suddenly, a laugh emerged from their lips, making their bodies tremble with happiness, her eyes moist with joyful tears. They’ve grown together and had become friends in those long days in Dorne. They’ve cried in each other shoulders, they’ve laughed and played together and confided secrets and love letters. In an impulse, they hugged each other, Haelena’s warm skin contrasting with the cold night air in their backs.

“I shall miss you, Your Grace.” Arya teased, giving a mock up bow to the Queen. 

Sansa rolled her eyes and took the horse’s reins, walking towards the small group waiting by the Wolf’s Wood gates. Meera Reed stood with her back straight, making her taller than she already was, her long curly hair in a tight braid, using man’s clothes and with her trident resting in her back. Jojen was by her side, his moss green eyes watching his surroundings in an uneasy manner. Bran was already in his own horse, a caramel mare with short legs, donning a different saddle, with a high backrest, to maintain him seated properly.

“Your Grace, thank you.” Said Jojen, taking the rein of his horse from Haelena’s hands and putting his feet on the stirrup. “You can’t imagine how important it is to take Bran to the Three-Eyed Raven.”

She walked towards the beautiful bay horse, giving him little pats on its side. 

“It was my pleasure, although some things had to be delayed due to the departures. I hope that this extra week will not spoil the plan.” She said, looking straight at his green eyes. “Take care of him, would you? Don’t forget, when you arrive at the Wall, ask Lord Snow for a group to escort you.”

“We don’t need his men, Hel.” Said tiny Bran, clicking his tongue and making the mare walk slowly towards them. “I will be fine. They are all I need.”

She crisped her lips, as she approached Summer, his orange eyes staring at her. It gently touched her shoulder, making her prompt forward and give him a tight hug. Its tail wagged in joy and soon he was trying to lick her face, just some inches out of its reach. She laughed, taking her hands of its soft fur and steping back.

Already in her own black horse was Arya, being escorted by her grey direwolf, Nymeria. She appeared to be anxious, her lips crisped and her brows furrowed. While Sansa advised her brother to listen to his own queen and stop being such a pain in the arse, Haelena walked to her good sister, taking the reins from her gloved hands.

“Arya, tell me, what is wrong?” She whispered, next to the girl.

“It’s nothing, Hel. Really…” She halted, unable to find words. “I just wish you could just have left me with all the preparations. Robb will notice you fled in the middle of the night from his side in bed.”

Haelena smiled, poking Arya’s legs with a finger, teasing her.

“Brave and fearless Arya is afraid of her older brother, is that right?”

Arya’s cheeks got flushed with anger and her brow furrowed even more.

“Don’t be daft.” She paused, catching breath. “I just don’t want to spoil your marriage so soon. You’re my best friend and my good sister, now. I wish you happiness more than everything else and to leave your husband’s side in the middle of the night to smuggle his brother, his sister, two teenagers and the wolfs outside the castle… He will be pissed.”

“Arya…” The Queen began to say. “He will never notice my absence and he will never know that I was the one that organized this escape. Everything will be fine.”

Arya halted, looking at her good-sister, the sudden realization coming to her mind.

“He has a very light sleep. You should know by now… Or he doesn’t share his bed with you?”

Haelena turned her face to the other side, closing her eyes in utter and complete shame.

“You should stop spying your own family, Arya.”

“Don’t blame me, Hel. That’s clearly written on your face. What is the problem? He can’t… you know… do the thing?”

The Queen turned to see her good sister, cheeks bright as red roses.

“Oh, for the Lord of Light sake, Arya… No! He obliges with his marital duties every night… But he doesn’t share my bed for sleep.”

“He obliges? Like he was doing you a favor? Like it’s a complete bother to go to this beautiful woman’s bed and make love to her?” Arya said, taking her good sister chin and turning her gaze towards her. “Do you think that this is how a marriage should work? Sleeping apart, not seeing your husband during all day and then only opening your legs so he can impregnate you?”

Haelena shook her head vigorously.

“Arya! A lady doesn’t talk like that! If your mother hears you…” She paused, blinking angrily. “It’s pretty normal to a wife live her life apart from her husband. I did not marry for love, I married for duty. And, so did your brother. If he wishes to visit my bed every night, he has his rights. If he prefers to part every night after, he has his rights as well. I do not feel less his wife.”

Arya looked straight at the Queen, grey eyes fixed in her teary face.

“I truly wish for you happiness, my sister. You deserve in this marriage more than just an arrangement, more than just the cold touches of a dutiful husband. You’ve lost so much… You deserve at least half of what you had…” She paused, looking straight in the maroon eyes. “…In Valyria.”

She took her good sister’s hands in hers, and taking in her lips, she gave a little kiss, whispering in her digits:

“Be brave, my dear. Be strong. And, most of all, be true to yourself. _”_

— —

She closed the door in silence, taking of the hood covering her face. Bran and his exploratory party were already on their way and everything went as Haelena planned. She placed the wool cape in the hook near the door and kneeled on the floor to take of the boots. Her room was warm and quiet, the fire crackling in the fireplace and the owls hooting outside the window. She was placing her boots near the fireplace, to be warm for the next day, when she heard:

“You couldn’t sleep?” Ask a voice behind her, making rise like a spring. In tunic, breeches and hunting boots, Robb sat in her bed, legs crossed in the ankles, very charming and relaxed.

“I… I went to check Ophelia. In any moment she will be having a new foal.” Haelena answered, her throat dry.

Robb furrowed his brows, while a slight smile appeared in his lips. He uncrossed his legs, prompting from the bed and walking slowly towards his wife. Her hair was down in waves and she was wearing those strange dresses she used to wear when she arrived at Winterfell, in a dark grey color. The bodice was tight in her bosom, making her breasts go upwards in the square neckline, like the valleys beyond the Wolf’s Wood. Her tiny waist was involved by a thick satin sash, light grey, and the folds of the skirt gathered around her like clouds, layers of linen, chiffon and wool.

“Oh, I see. So, you had nothing to do with Bran leaving Winterfell in the middle of the night with two girls and a small boy?” Robb said, as he got closer to her. They were now face to face, her huge eyes watching him with care.

“Bran ran away?” She gasped, placing a hand in her chest. Robb’s eyes went directly to the pale mounts over the strict neckline and felt the urge to touch her. He closed his hands in a fist, trying to take away this urgent craving he had for her.

“The fact that the stable boy clearly said that the Queen asked for the finest horses to be prepared tonight means nothing to you?” The king said, his hand taking from Haelena’s view a strand of hair.

Her eyes got bigger, those maroon irises watching him in terror. He could see her breathing getting shallower under the trap of her stays. He caressed her neck in small, consistent circles, as he would do with his horses. He could feel her heart beat in his digits and that made him hard with lust.

“Did you think that I would not notice your absence? That my servants wouldn’t report me of your little adventure in the castle?” He murmured in her ear, as his hands started to unbutton the back of her dress. “Did you think that you would be safe behind that little excuse of a headache?”

That night, when he was preparing to visit her, as he always did, the maid interrupted him to warn that the mistress felt ill, with a headache, and asked the master to not visit her in her chamber. He felt pity for the poor thing, so gentle, so delicate. He was already in bed when the stable-boy knocked on his door to inform about the whereabouts of his wife, who faked a discomfort to go behind his back and smuggle his brother and sister out of the castle in the middle of the night.

That made his blood boil in his veins. He spent all that time thinking she was a delicate flower, true and proper, and she was a deceiving witch. And that made him burn with desire.

“I thought you paid no mind to what I did in here, my lord.” She whispered, feeling his fingers pulling down the bodice and freeing her torso from the restriction of the fabric. He looked at her, the layers of the dress around her legs, the white sturdy cotton of the stays against her skin.

“How could you say that? You are not feeling at home in Winterfell? There’s something amiss, my lady?” He said, licking his lips, controlling his impulse to lift her in his arms and take her against the door. That whimsical enchantress…

“Well, my lord. I…” Haelena said, clearly uncomfortable. “You’ve been avoiding my company since the wedding. I only see you for some minutes every night, when you oblige to your marital duties, and then you’re gone. I understand that we did not marry for love or any desire, whatsoever, however, I must say…”

She paused, hearing laugh coming from his throat, his fingers pulling the cords and releasing her from the grip of the stays. She took a long breath, feeling the cold night air in her damp skin, under the chemise.

“My lady, how can you say I don’t desire you.” He whispered in her skin, as he contoured with his digits her collarbone. “When every day I wish to take your nipples in my mouth, to spread your thighs apart and love you for hours a day? How can you say that when I wish to hold you against me all night and feel you wake up with the dawn?”

She had lost her breath for a moment, feeling his hands closing in her breasts over the chemise.

“How can you say that I don’t want you, when I take you every night, even though I feel I’m jumping straight on the bonfire? That I’m melting into lava and glad to be doing so?” He spread kisses in her skin. “Gods, you are like the sun…”

She felt her skin on fire, hearing him profess his desire in such a way that she only heard in Jon’s lips. She closed her eyes, feeling his hands pulling down petticoats and her chemise, freeing her skin to his touch. His fingers were calloused and his hands weren’t gentle as they were on the past days. He was burning for her and she was burning for a proper touch, a man’s touch, to make her moan and cry in ecstasy. 

“Do you want me too, my lady?” He asked in a hoarse voice, making her skin tingle in anticipation.

She opened her eyes to see him, broad and manly and handsome. He had fury and lust deep in his blue eyes and her body trembled with the mere thought. Haelena, she reprimanded herself, you don’t love him. You love Jon.

But Jon was not here and she felt sadness every night that Robb arrived at her chamber, his smock falling to the side of the bed in a single motion, his hands pushing down her covers, and his mouth soothing her, while she spread her legs in a wifely duty. He would take her in slow motions, watching her body for any sign of pain or discomfort. In a few minutes he would grunt slowly in her neck, kiss her forehead almost as a apologize for that vile act and leave.

And now… now his body screamed for her, his lips searched for her in hunger and lust. His hands were brute and squeezed her in many places, his beard rubbed her pale skin and she felt like a woman should feel. Was that wrong?

“Robb…” She mumbled, feeling his teeth in her gathers, the knitted stockings rolling down her calves. “Take me to the balcony.”

He took her in a single motion, Haelena’s legs involving his waist, his lips pressed in her neck. She felt instantly the freezing night air in her back, the cold stone in her behind, Robb’s body pressed against her chest. Her hands started to undo his breeches and he took his lips from her skin to ask:

“What you’re doing, my lady?”

She lifted her eyelids and looked straight to his clear blue eyes.

“I’m unlacing your breeches.”

He smiled broadly and she saw his eyes sparkle in the moonlight. His hands traveled down her spine, making her shiver. 

“I can’t take a lady in a balcony. It’s not proper.”

And with a sigh, feeling the heat come in waves between her legs, her skin screaming for a man’s touch and love, she whispered in his ear, taking his member in her warm hand and placing in her entrance.

“I’m no lady, my lord. I’m your wife.”

And he took her under the stars, the cold night air in his back, her feverish skin in his arms, ice and fire being as one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Thanks for everything, guys! Keep commenting!
> 
> Let's talk about this chapter, shall we?
> 
> I love the Zaldriz's brothers! I think they are so funny, with such unique personalities! The relation that they have with their younger sister is so sweet and they are so close... I really want to make them appear more in the story. What do you guys think?
> 
> It's clear that after the last 2 weeks of marriage, things have been pretty dull for Haelena. Robb still treats her like a China doll and all her family is leaving, together with Arya and Bran. She is feeling lonely and scared and it breaks my heart to see such friendship between the sisters, considering that they are going to be far away from each other for some time.
> 
> I've really enjoyed writing this last part: Robb finally realizing that his proper wife is not so proper, after all and allowing himself to show her the desire he aways felt. I really enjoyed to put the two of them in such a wild manner, showing exactly that lust and love were two very different things. Even though they still can't say they are in love, they can enjoy and take solace from each other's bodies.
> 
> What will happen with Haelena now that her plan to smuggle the young Starks out of Winterfell was discovered?
> 
> Please, excuse any english mistakes that I committed, as English is not my first language.
> 
> I will be posting a new chapter every friday! Yay!


	17. Of boredom and loneliness

“She did what?” his mother protested, her face pale and scared.

He had decided that night, after placing the naked body of his wife in her bed, caressing the hot skin and seeing her lips shiver under the candle light, that he had to tell his mother and father about the escape of Bran and Arya from Winterfell. He was raised to be honest, fair and, above everything else, true to himself. 

He was her husband and her king. He had to be obeyed and respected. How could he expect this from his servants and bannermen, if his own Queen would be so insolent with him?

“I’m incredibly sorry, Lady Catelyn. I shouldn’t have done this behind your back. I thought about telling our plans to you, but Bran asked me to not…” Started to say his wife, the cheeks flustered in rosy tones. 

“Bran is a child, Your Grace. And broken. How do you think he’s going to survive alone in the woods?” Tears stroke down his mother’s peach skin, shimmering in her Tully blue eyes.

“He has Arya, Jojen and Meera with him. They’re capable…” His wife tried to say, but was interrupted once again by Lady Catelyn.

“They are children as well, Your Grace! Children! Arya is three-and-ten! A girl, still, not even flowered!” The blood started to go back to the lady’s cheeks and her eyes sparkled with anger.

“Jojen and Meera are nine-and-ten, my lady. Smart and able, son and daughter of Lord’s Stark best friend. They are not children and Bran knows exactly what is expected of him!” Robb looked at Haelena, her maroon eyes getting redder with anger, like Dornish wine. “You may treat your child as a lame boy but he’s much more than that, my lady. He’s brave and kind. A true Stark.”

Lady Stark gulped, eyes wide towards her good-daughter, lips crisped. She whispered:

“You forget yourself, Your Grace! I’m the Lady of Winterfell and I’ll not allow you to speak to me like this.”

“Pardon me, my lady. But I always speak my own mind and I must be true to myself: you’re not thinking of your child wellbeing. If you did, you would have listened to him and allow him to go, with your blessings.” Said the girl, fists clinched.

“How dare you?” Growled the old lady. “You had no right in doing this. You had no power to help them, to demand horses and food to feed this wretched plan!”

“I’m the Queen, my lady. And it was my will to help Bran escape his prison. My will is my command.” Haelena whispered, in anger. 

The silence took over them, as the two ladies stared at each other. His father approached his mother and tried to take her hand with care, bringing her back to her senses. However, she was, mainly, a Tully, even after twenty years and she followed the motto with all her heart: Family, Duty, Honor. She would not let this girl, who was still a stranger, to brake her family apart.

“You may ask for forgiveness right now, Haelena Stark.”

That made the Queen’s body shiver with anger and her lips almost curl in a snarl:

“I will not allow you to speak to me as a child.”

“Can’t you see? You’re a child! A willful and stupid child, that does not think on the consequences of your own actions! You may be married and bedded, but I will only treat you as a lady when you start to behave as one.” Screamed Lady Catelyn, losing her composure. “For now on, you’re not allowed to do any chores as the chatelaine of Winterfell. You will only attend to the matters of your Queendom, and that’s it.”

“Cat, dear.” Said Lord Stark, in a soft voice. “The Queen had reasons to allow Bran and Arya to leave the castle and, as she said before, Bran asked her to not tell you. Please, she meant no harm. I’m sure she feels very sorry for the sharp words exchanged, as you do, and I do believe that she will apologize for this behavior. After all, she is our daughter now, as well.”

Robb could see her mother gulping nervously, her eyes darting between her husband and her new daughter, looking livid. At last, she saw Lady Catelyn pale blue eyes fixing in him, demanding his position. She noticed that her husband would defend the Valyrian girl from her bad temper and she was seeking an ally.

Robb sighed. He knew what he had to do, even though he was not pleased with that. His mother was right: the way Haelena acted behind his back, planning to take his brother and sister from the castle, without even telling her own King, whose bed they shared every night… It was unacceptable. She must be admonished and reproached. It was his duty as a husband.

“My lady wife, you may beg your pardon to Lady Catelyn now.” He said in a monotonous voice, making his wife glance with wide eyes at him, her chest moving rapidly, her lips crisped in anger.

“My lord, I…” She started, but he interrupted.

“Haelena.”

She furrowed her brow and, for a moment, he saw the fire roaring in her irises. She was made of fire and born to burn everyone and everything that disagreed with her. Seeing the anger and passion behind her eyes made him hard with lust, his face blushing with shame, as the memories of the last night invaded his thoughts.

“I’m deeply sorry, Lady Catelyn. This will never happen again. I will not interfere in the matters of the castle and its inhabitants anymore.” She whispered, and, with a nod, Lord Eddard and his wife left the King’s solar, lips crisped and backs straightened.

The Queen turned back to her husband, that walked towards her and now placed a hand in her back.

“I can’t believe that you commanded me to…” But she could not finish her complaint, as he placed a finger over her lips, whispering:

“Don’t you ever again do anything behind my back again, my lady. I’m your lord husband and your king, do you understand?” 

However, before she could answer him, he took her lips in his, a long and deep kiss, feeling her shiver under his digits. They stared at each other, short of breath and flushed, for a moment that seemed like an eternity, before Robb gave a deep courtesy and fled.

— —

Haelena opened her eyes, hearing the maids reviving the fire and preparing her morning routine. The curtains from the canopy bed were pulled and the breakfast tray was placed in the Queen’s lap: eggs, bacon, beans and sausages, a nice cup of tea and toasts with jam.

She munched without hurry as she watched the girls pouring hot water in a tin bathtub. She was getting used to this daily preparation, the northerner girls entering and leaving her bedchamber in quiet silence.

It has been little over a moon since the wedding.

She finished her breakfast and waited until a girl lifted the tray from her lap. Two girls in leather gloves helped her get up, placing her tiny slippers in her feet and a warm shawl over her shoulders. They led her to a chair near the bathtub, placing her with care, untying the braid and untangling the strands with a comb. The red-haired maid twisted the strands in a bun secured with pins. She got up again, feeling the nightgown being pulled from her body, the slippers being taken from her feet and her legs entering the near boiling water.

After being bathed, perfumed and dried, the maids would dress her in a northerner gown, grey and white, with long sleeves and a belt cinching her waist. Lady Catelyn had advised her to use more westerosi dresses, without so many layers and simpler, as the Queen of the North should use.

The first fortnight of her marriage, she would leave her bedchamber to walk around the castle, talking to the servants and understanding the matters that she should attend. She would visit the tenants and bring them food and toys for the children. She would care for the horses in the stables and the roses in the glass gardens. She started to think about renewing an old part of the castle and increase the number of chambers available for guests.

But that was then. After she helped Bran and the others to run away from Winterfell, she not only had a steamy meeting with her oh-so-gentle husband but had also a long conversation with a hysteric Lady Catelyn, a somber Lord Eddard and a dutiful King Robb, agreeing that she should stop attending the matters of Winterfell’s chatelaine.

Now, she would spend hours embroidering with Sansa and the number of gowns she had increased so much in the last few weeks that she had to find a new trunk to hold it all. She would read old and leathery books, about the Dance of Dragons and the Conquest. She would walk aimlessly around the gardens and she would spend hours by the weirwood tree. 

Sometimes, she would spend her days by her grandmother solar, listening to her complain about anything she had in her mind. Or she would follow Lady Catelyn around, watching her deal with her duties as a chatelaine, never speaking or even making any sound. 

It was all very lonely. And boring. Sometimes she would have a glimpse of Robb or even exchange some words with him, but he would vanish some time later, ever occupied. At night, she would wait for him by the fire, ever expecting for him to resume his visits, waiting for the promise vailed it their last kiss.

Always waiting.

“Oh, here you are!” She heard her grandmother complain entering her solar, her long white braid pinned in a proper bun up in her head, with a purple tunic with gold embroidery. “I thought you were still asleep, dear. You know…”

“… a lady always rises with the sun. Yes, nana, I know.” Finished Haelena, sitting in the bench near her grandmother, taking from a basket her needles and yarn for knitting.

Lady Visenya looked at her with sharp eyes and crisped lips. 

“You know I detest to be called ‘Nana’. It’s very impolite and shows no respect to your grandmother. Did you listen to all the times I said this to you before?” The old lady complained, crossing her arms over her chest. “And you put that needle down: you are going to read a story for me.”

Haelena rolled her eyes and released her grip from the knitting needles.

“What do you wish to hear? Fairytales from the north or the economic treaty between Lord Rickard and Lord Holden?” The Queen asked, annoyed.

“Dear, what happened to you? You are very unpleasant today.” Complained her grandmother, snapping her fingers to Lady waiting by the door, who came wiggling her tail in pure joy.

“I… Nana… I’m so bored.” Haelena complained, pulling the huge treaty from the bookshelf and taking to her bench. “I have nothing to do. Lady Catelyn doesn’t allow me to have duties as a chatelaine, Robb doesn’t require my presence at all. What should I do?”

“Whatever young girls do, my dear. You may be married now, but you certainly aren’t dead.” Said Lady Visenya, taking the huge book from her granddaughter’s hands and opening it in her lap.

A silence took over the room for a while, only the fire roaring in the fireplace and the book page’s being turned by the old lady’s hands. Haelena stared at the window behind her grandmother, her eyes lost in thoughts and memories.

“I’m feeling so lost, Nana. Lost and alone.” Lady Visenya turned her gaze towards her granddaughter again. “And so, so tired. What is the point of getting up if I have nothing to do? No purpose whatsoever?”

Lady Visenya placed the book over the bench and got up with difficulty, towards the girl. She took Haelena’s chin in her calloused hands, making the girl look straight in her eyes.

“I know you and your brothers don’t take my advices seriously. However, I must insist you listen to me this time, Haelena Stark: I lived by the side of Aegon the Conqueror and many times fought alongside him. I didn’t crave for peace and quiet, I didn’t wish for monotony or boredom. I just started to crave for it when my life had already crumbled into pieces. And by then, it was too late.”

— —

Mance Rayder had escaped.

Jon looked at the open cell, his eyes darting through the icy walls. He was woken up by the sound of the horn, announcing that trouble had come to the Wall in the middle of the night. 

“Dick came in his round and found the cell open. We couldn’t find any footprints. The snow has been falling no stop since supper, milord.” Said Olly, his squire, eyes wide in terror. “Milord? What shall we do?”

He stood still for a moment, thinking. As soon the wildlings hear about what was happening, they would rebel. With their leader free, they would wish to be free as well, walking towards the northerner lords, taking their cattle and their women. They couldn’t hear that Mance ran away. They mustn’t know.

“Bring me Tormund Giantsbane.” Jon said to the boy, as he walked back to his bedchamber, feeling the snowflakes falling in his skin.

He was cold, hungry and angry. He should be lying in his comfortable bed, dreaming of maroon eyes and soft hands. He should be spending his nights remembering the northerner queen body under his, the way she smiled broadly as he took her in his mouth, how she would curl her toes with pleasure…

He couldn’t think about her. Not now. Not without feeling his heart ache in pain and his eyes shut in memories. 

He needed to let her go.

“I’ve heard about what happened, my lord.” He heard a voice by his side.

It was Ser Davos, fully dressed with weary eyes. 

“I prefer not to discuss this in here, Ser.” Said the Lord Commander, giving a side eye to his surroundings. “If you please follow me to my solar.”

They walked together in complete silence, almost being guided by the heat coming from the Lord Commander’s fireplace. Jon asked a steward some spiced wine, while he sat in a comfortable armchair.

“I thought you were going to leave this evening, Ser.” Said the bastard, staring at the old man.

“I needed some time to write a letter. I hope you could send it tomorrow, to Winterfell.” The old lord rubbed his beard.

Jon passed his fingers through his dark hair, hanging loose over his ears. He didn’t had time to tie it properly, like he got used to. Like Haelena thought him to do.

But it was not time nor place to think about her.

“You still intend to ask King Robb for help.” Said the Lord Commander. “Would his presence change the scenario so much that woke up to insist in this demand through a letter?”

Ser Davos placed the cup in the small table in front of them, looking in the dark grey eyes of the man in front of him.

“There is no chance we will win the war in an open field without the North’s help. Our time is running short, my lord. Since Lord Eddard ran back to the north as a King and King Stannis declared himself the true heir to the throne, Lord Tywin started to prepare his troops, ready for battle.”

It was now or never, the last chance for them to find an unprepared army being led by an unprepared King.

“I owe this to my King, my lord.” Lord Davos paused, his eyes lost somewhere. Some may say that we are too pessimistic. However, I think that Lord Stannis is being prudent and fair in his request. What do you think, my lord?”

Jon gave a slight smile and toasted in silence.

“I cannot give my opinion, Ser. The affairs of Kings are not of my business.”

A deep voice came from behind them, making the men get up quickly.

“Right now, crow, a king’s business is your business.”

There stood the highest man there was in Castle Black. Tall and big, with prominent muscles all over his body and a head full of red hair. He had a long, tangled beard, fashioned with beads and braids and blue sharp eyes, that watched them intently.

“Did you help Mance escape, Giantsbane?” Asked Jon, walking towards the man.

Tormund smiled, showing a crooked tooth, probably due to a fight many years earlier.

“I may dislike you crows, but I know what is honor, Snow. You showed kindness to the wildlings and treated our King well, even though you could’ve killed him and his child. I didn’t break him free. I but I can help you find him.”

They stared at each other for some time, memories from the free-folk battle still fresh in their eyelids. They knew exactly the feeling creeping in the room: companionship and understanding.

“I know where Mance is, Jon Snow.” Said Tormund, taking Ser Davos goblet of wine from the table and chugging it loudly. “Hardhome. A fishermen village. Let’s go there and bring him back.”

Jon raised an eyebrow.

“Let’s? You’re willing to follow the crow, Giantsbane?”

Tormund laughed loudly, hitting the lord commander in his back, placing the huge fingers in his shoulders.

“Someone has to watch your back, Snow. If you leave Castle Black only with crows, all of you will be white walkers by the end of the moon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Thanks for all the kudos and comments!
> 
> Let's talk about this chapter, shall we?
> 
> I really liked to write the confrontation between Haelena and Catelyn. They're both two very strong willed woman and it was obvious that Lady Cat would not allow her new daughter in law to occupy her old place as the great lady of the north without a good fight. 
> 
> Robb is very confused about everything he is feeling: he loves his mother and wants to respect her. However, after the steamy night with his gentle queen, he doesn't know anymore what to expect from the future. Robb's absence in Hel's chamber and her own banishment from household duties are making her bored and fully conscious about how lonely she have been, compared to the life she had in Dorne and in Castle Black.
> 
> Now, Jon, feeling the same emptiness Hel is feeling, has to go in a trip to find Mance Rayder and discover the true challenge that the white walkers are.
> 
> Will Jon alert Robb about the perils discovered at Hardhome? Will Robb resume his visits? Will Hel ever forget Jon?
> 
> Please, excuse any english mistakes that I committed, as English is not my first language.
> 
> I will be posting a new chapter every friday! Yay!


	18. Of shadows and fires

“I need to talk to you.” Said Robb, standing near the door. Haelena was curled over the armchair, wearing just a linen nightgown, transparent and light. Robb could see her nipples, round and rosy under the thin fabric and he wished to lick them until she passed out in pleasure.

She raised her brows, surprised. The king felt a little ashamed of his sudden appearance, as he has been avoiding his marital duties since… well, since that day. The memories of her body closed tight to his own, her bare legs holding him in place, her breasts pressed against his tunic, her fingers locked in his hair, kept him wake all night, wishing to open her door and take her body in his arms.

He feared to have hurt her, to have been too ruff with her, breaking her heart along the way. It was not proper to lust for a lady so strongly as he lusted for his wife. However, he heard her steps every night after their torrid meeting and somewhere deep inside of him, he wished, with all his heart, that her uneasy steps were a sign that she wished to open that door and come to his chamber as well.

“Robb?” Haelena asked, raising one eyebrow. He looked at her, returning from his deep thoughts, watching her playing with her hair. He felt his member getting hard under the restriction of the fabric and sighed, trying to control his body. Not now…

“May I take a sit?” He said, showing the armchair next to hers. 

Haelena raised her eyebrows high in her forehead, a doubtful look in her eyes, as she arranged herself in the seat, her hands placed with care over her knees, her ankles crossed in a dignified position, even though she was only wearing a thin nightgown.

“I need an advice.” He said, crossing his legs and sitting in a more relaxed position.

He saw a smirk appear on the corner of his wife’s mouth and sudden vanish while she gained her composure.

“I feel very honored that my lord husband wishes to hear my opinion over any matter of his interest.” She said, very polite, with a tinge of sarcasm.

God, how he was craving her right here, right now. He cleared his throat, trying to follow the speech he had prepared.

“As you may know, my lady, Ser Davos requested the Northerner army for Lord Stannis.” Robb said in a straightforward manner. “He demands an answer, promptly.”

“I’m afraid, my lord, that I’m not very acquainted with the affairs of the kingdom.” She said, her maroon eyes glistening with anger. “Your lady mother thought it was the best for me to attend the matters related to my queendom.” Seeing his confused look, she added: “The most important matter being the King. Anyhow, Ser Davos came to you asking for our help in their fateful war?”

He nodded, crossing his arms over his chest, leaning his back on the backrest.

“And you wish to know if we should send troops to him?” She asked, watching him nod again. “Well, my lord, is a very simple answer: no. I suppose that Lord Stannis threatened our kingdom. He seems like a man capable of doing such things… However, no matter what he threatens us if, my answer will always be no.”

“What do you see on the flames, my lady?” Robb asked in a whisper.

She paused, uncrossing her ankles. Her maroon eyes were lost in memories.

“The same thing I always saw: death, green flames and destruction. The attack at Blackwater Bay will fail, my lord. This will be the end of Lord Stannis reign.”

“My lady, if we give him more troops and help him in this war, maybe they will win. Maybe we can change the future, just like you did before.” He got up, kneeling next to her, placing his hand over hers. “We could save many souls and teach a lesson to those Lannisters that could have killed my father due to a lie.”

He watched Haelena sigh, taking one hand from his and placing it over his cheek. He felt his whole body on fire and the urge to tear up the thin linen in his hands seemed more urgent than ever.

“Would you risk the lives of our knights to take a revenge against men that are, for all the facts, innocent?” She raised her head and he, instinctively, lowered his head near her lips. “Would you risk your own welfare? Going to war and leaving a newlywed bride waiting for you, as your father left Lady Catelyn so many years ago?”

“Father is a very honorable man.” He answered in her lips, so close he could smell spices and wine within her breath.

“He is my lord, but he was fighting a war to revenge his sister, that was taken against her will. To revenge his father and brother, whom were burn by the mad king. Who would you be revenging? What would comfort me when I saw your lifeless body coming back to Winterfell?” Robb felt her fingers twirling in his hair, her huge maroon eyes watching him.

“Would you truly weep for my death?” He asked, taking strands of chocolate hair between his own fingers, his heart racing inside his chest.

“Yes, my lord. I would.” Her voice was husky and, without thinking, he caressed her body and felt her shiver. “I would wear black and weep in your grave with your father by my side.”

His mind raced through options, the temptation of changing the events, the need to live the thrill of a war, to pour blood on the battlefield, be a hero and a leader, made his tongue tingle and his hand shake, wanting to write to Lord Stannis and give him troops. But his wife would weep for his death, would wear black all her life. Could he break her heart when going to war?

“My answer will always be no, my lord. You’re the master of your own fate and you must decide for yourself, but I will always say no. Now, stop calling me my lady and come take your wife to bed. I’ve been waiting you for too long.”

And he took her in his arms, kissing her lips while walking towards the balcony. 

— —

It has been a moon since Robb answered Lord Davos letter. And their answer was no.

Although very sure at the beginning, after their night together, the Queen noticed that Robb started to grow weary and with doubts by the time, as news about the moving of the Stormsland’s army and the preparations of the Lannister troops reached their ears. They heard through the castle the tales of brave lads going to war, singing at the top of their lungs about maiden fairs and bears, preparing to face something that only their fathers saw, back when Rhaegar Targaryen kidnapped the Baratheon bride.

Sometimes she would pass him through the halls, his eyes very blue and bright, lost in the space. At night, mounting him, feeling his lips in her skin, she would trace her fingers through his furrowed brows and whisper:

“Forget your worries, my lord. You’re with your wife now and she requires your presence.”

He would smile slightly and enter her in a fast movement, making her gasp with pleasure. 

She put aside her needlework, looking at her grandmother, still complaining about something Sansa did. The sun was already setting and she would have to change her garments for supper, talk politely with Lady Catelyn (that was treating her rather coldly since Bran’s scape) and look at Robb, sorrow in his eyes and the mind filled with doubts. She wished truly that, for once in her life, she was mistaken towards the result of this battle.

It doesn’t matter to her that, if Stannis won, he would try to make several agreements with the North, just to keep sending the grain they needed. Robb would take her at night, with a huge smile in his face, teasing her as how she was completely wrong about what she saw in the flames. That she should have listened to him.

“Milady?” Asked a voice coming from the door, making her head go up and the thoughts about what Robb would do to her while chanting victory vanish from her mind. It was a tiny girl, no more than two and ten, with wooden clogs and a cotton cap over her very black hair.

A milk maid, Haelena remembered, from the time she was allowed to know the inhabitants from the castle. She could almost remember her name… Was it Agatha? Jorelle? No… It was… Dear Lord…

“Yes, Madelynne?” She remembered, motioning to the girl come forward. It was very unusual for the milk maids enter the castle and talk to the Queen. The young girl looked frightened, her huge brown eyes wide and her trembling hands holding something covered in a very dirty rag.

The girl stood some feet from the door, her tiny feet inside the clogs still unsure on how to walk.

“Come along, girl. We don’t have all the time in the world.” Said Lady Visenya, in a way that made the Queen give a little smirk. Her grandmother has been sitting in this earth for more than 300 years. One thing she had was time. “Now, tell milady what do you want to say. And be quick about it.”

The girl ran with her little feet with dexterity, kneeling in the floor in front of the Queen. She opened the dirty rags with care and, laying in the center, was a raven, his tiny heart beating very fast, while shivers were running through his little body. Next to him, laid a parchment, rolled and very regal.

“I found him, milady, next to Bess, while I was milking her. He is alive still and he had in his tiny feet a letter for King Robb, milady. I didn’t know what to do, so I’ve come to you. You’re very kind and good to us, milady, and I was certain in coming to you: you remembered how I was called. Just a milk maid.” The girl blinked rapidly while talking. “I knew milady would talk to me and receive the letter for milord.”

Haelena smiled with kindness to the little girl, that resembled so much like Arya. She was growing fond of the children in the castle, that would follow her around and give her little gifts. She would roam through the garden with a flock of boys and girls by her feet, pulling her skirts and talking with their little voices. She would lay by the snow with them, watching the sun glimpse through the icy crystals and the children playing by her side.

“Of course, dear. You were very smart, indeed. Now, go to Maester Luwin and give him this poor creature. It sure needs some rest. After, tell Cook that I allowed you to drink some sweetened milk and eat some cookies, for your impeccable work.” Said the Queen, placing a hand over the girl’s cap in her head.

The girl smiled and, taking the tiny raven in her small hands, she ran towards the open door. In her hands, Haelena saw Robb’s name in a flourished handwriting, next to the sigil of Joffrey Baratheon, the lion and the stag together. She stared with her heart icy cold, imagining what was behind the letter, what news the King had to provide them, what mysteries would be uncover.

“Oh, dear. Look at the time! We must change for supper. See you soon, darling.” Said Lady Visenya, placing her embroidery by the basket, kissing her granddaughter’s forehead and walking towards the door.

With her heart racing, knowing what must be written inside the paper, the Queen broke the sigil and read the words, her mind racing and her eyes dreading what she saw. 

There was death written in the parchment, many deaths, marked with tyranny and villainy. Flames that never extinguished, betrayal, drownings. Losses too big to count, boys that would never grow old, families that would never reunite, girls that would never share a bed with their sweethearts.

And the doubt that tormented her husband for so many days entered her mind: if they interfered, could they win? If she was certain of their advantage, would those girls find happiness by their lover’s side? Would those young lads find a family and a home? Would they grow old and tired? Did she doomed those poor men to death because she couldn’t see the signs the Lord of Light was showing her? Did she refused to help, afraid of things she once saw in the flames? Did she forgot those poor boys fearing to lose the man she vouched to maintain alive?

“Oh, you are still here.” Said Robb, opening the door loudly, walking towards his wife with a smile in his eyes. “What you are doing?”

She folded the parchment hastily, throwing behind the armchair without thinking. It was a letter addressed to the King. He ought to read it, surely. However, deep in her heart, she knew that if he knew the truth and the decay behind the Blackwater Bay Battle, he would never forgive himself for allowing the bloodshed. He would never forgive her.

“Nothing, my lord. Just waiting for you.”

— —

She felt his hands going up towards her thighs, over her thin nightgown. She could her the faraway sounds coming from the Blackwater Bay, the wildfire still crackling over King Stannis ships, the men shouting at each other, the doves purring on their nests. And his breath, next to her ear, moist and heavy with desire, like she was feeling between her legs.

“I though you would be busy…” She mumbled, opening her green eyes and seeing the same eyes watching her back.

“I’m never busy to you, Cersei.” Jaime whispered, holding her tightly against his naked body. She could feel over the linen the shapes and textures of his muscles and smell the musk so common to lustful men.

He had found her entrance and touched with utmost care the tingly button that always made her sigh in delight. She felt his movements getting harder, her hands searching his shoulders for support, while her knees shivered. Sinking her fingernails onto his skin, she exhaled and released her body from the sweet agony she was experiencing, allowing her limbs to spread over the sheets, opening herself to him.

There was he, gold hair falling over his eyes, as he laid on top of her and placed his member in her entrance. He took a moment to watch her, rosy lips moist with passion, cheeks flushed and green eyes shining under the moonlight. She twitched under him, prompting her hips towards him, making his member enter her in a slow and formidable motion.

She exhaled again, accepting his body in hers, holding him against her using her thighs, closing her fingers in his hair, forcing his mouth against her own, as he moved inside of her, the same movement that they have known since she was seven-and-ten years old.

“Oh, Gods. I’ve missed you.” He whispered between kisses, entering her again, forcing her body to open more to him.

She had missed him too. Her father had sent him away, to take care of Myrcella, her only daughter, so far away from her family, living among animals in the Dornish sands. Since Ned Stark had fled the Red Keep at night and her husband was killed by a wild pig, the new Hand decided to change the Kingsguard, sending his own son to take care of the Royal Princess.

Taking Jamie away from her.

However, as all their lives, they were never apart for too long. Their bodies craved for each other and soon or less they were together, legs and arms mingled together, damp bodies searching for pleasure and love.

She loved him and he loved her, like no one ever would love other. They were more than brother and sister. They were more than soulmates. They had the same soul, divided between two bodies, so similar and, yet, so different. 

She felt him groaning in her neck, his seed falling over her belly, warm and gooey. He kissed her once more, before falling on his back by her side, watching her heart slow down his beat. He caressed her cheeks and her beautiful golden hair, eyes lost in hers.

“You need to stay with me, Jaime.” She murmured. “I need you now more than ever.”

He smiled at his sister. She was the strongest woman he had ever met. Still, laying by his side, half naked and afraid, it really seemed like she needed him more than ever.

“Oh, Cersei. You know that I must go were father commands me. Why should you be afraid? You’re the mother of the King, a nice and proper widow, beautiful like any other maiden in the kingdom, clever and fearless.”

“They say that Robb’s wench is the most beautiful woman in all Westeros.” She complained, remembering how the rumors towards the mysterious and graceful lady came towards the Kingdom in the past three moons since her marriage with the, at the time, prince of the north.

Now she was the Queen, said not only to be stunning and graceful, but kind hearted and humble. Her mysterious origins, from somewhere near Braavos as it seems, made her even more alluring to the smallfolk from King’s Landing, making them forget their old Queen.

And thank the gods, forget their new Queen as well.

“And there’s Margeary as well.” She said, looking at Jaime and waiting for an answer.

He smiled and looked up to the ceiling:

“I’ve heard the news. Very exciting to learn that I will not only have a good-daughter next moon, but she will be the Rose of Highgarden.”

Cersei crisped her lips, adding:

“So, you know that I’m also to be wed. To that boy, Willas.”

Jaime turned to his side, looking again to his Queen, green eyes shining like emeralds.

“That’s your problem then? You do not wish to be married?” He mocked her. “Oh, darling. It’s not that hard. You’ve lived with Robert for so many years…”

She turned to her side, lips crisped together in defiance.

“It’s more than that. I stayed married for eight-and-ten years to that buffoon, having to let him touch me, fuck me and treat me like a common whore. I wish for my freedom, I wish for the power that once was promised to me!” Her hands were closed tightly to the covers. “I’ve watched Robert take bad decision after bad decision, including giving the honored Ned Stark the independence of our most valuable lands. And when I had the chance to do something about it, father forbade me of doing anything against the northerners. He is certain that I’m only a mare to be exchange and fucked, bare children and sit outside the spotlight for the rest of my life.”

She seemed to be filled of anger, her neck bright red and her eyes shining with hatred.

“I’m not a mare and I will get my queendom back, Jamie. I will not let those idiots take everything from me. I’m the Queen and this is all mine.” She roared. “They may try to take my freedom, but I’m not a naïve girl of seven-and-ten anymore. I’m a lioness and they will hear me roar.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Thanks for all the support!
> 
> Let's talk about this chapter, shall we?
> 
> I loved sassy Haelena, saying to Robb that she don't know the matters involving the kingdom because HIS mother would not let her do anything. The sexual tension between the two of them is too much! Ugh! They're talking serious stuff but both of them just want to get in the pants of the other! Teenagers, you know...
> 
> Haelena don't learn from her previous mistakes: she decides to hide an important detail from her husband, fully aware that he was not pleased with her the last time she did that. Will he discover she has keeping him blind about the Blackwater Bay Battle? How Robb will react to that?
> 
> Cersei is a amazing character, especially with Jaime. She is very certain of her role as queen and the fact she was pulled for eighteen years by two authoritarian figures (her father and Robert) molded in who she is today. What will she do to have her seven kingdoms back? Was Haelena's work all for nothing?
> 
> Please, excuse any english mistakes that I committed, as English is not my first language.
> 
> I will be posting a new chapter every friday! Yay!


	19. Of fate and illness

He could hear her steps inside the room, her feet brushing softly over the stone. Robb smiled to himself, thinking about his wife. She would be wearing a thin nightgown, her chocolate hair cascading in waves behind her back, maroon eyes staring him with fire. They would not talk, just hug each other, tasting their lips and feeling their skin. She would shiver when he started to take off the fabric covering her skin and would cling to his shoulders, sighing softly.

The thought of her, mumbling with desire under him, made his heart beat faster and his grin got wider. How lucky he was to have her, just for himself.

They had their up’s and down’s, that’s true. There were times he thought he was going to lose his mind, trying to control his wife. However, now they were at peace, her presence comforting him, assuring that he had nothing to fear, especially during the night.

Don’t think about it, he thought to himself, trying to stop his mind going about war and death. Since the day he answered Lord Davos, denying their help in Lord Stannis war, he would think all the time about the death and destruction predicted by Haelena. He had listened to rumors about the war, rumors about Lord Stannis defeat.

Rumors, that’s all.

The thought of it didn’t ease his conscience. What was better? Know that his wife was correct and many died a terrible death and if he had been part of it, he would have died too? Or know that she was wrong and he could have helped Lord Stannis win the war, even if they had a few deaths?

He listened to her hum inside the room and he got up, putting the cup filled with wine on the table. He had miscalculated and the cup, in a slow motion, tipped to its side, falling on the stone floor with a bang. He kneeled on the floor, searching for the cup that rolled under the armchair, groping the air around it and feeling in his digits a paper.

Forgetting the cup, he took the parchment, hastily folded up, in his hand. He got up and started to unfold it with curiosity. It had a smear of dust over it, showing that the letter stayed in the confines of the armchair for some time, before being found. What was it, he thought. A love letter, perhaps?

Robb instantly looked up to the closed door, where Haelena now was singing softly, probably brushing her bright hair. His heart stopped for a minute, thinking about the probabilities. Could she have written a love letter? Could it be for him? Why would she throw it away? Was she afraid to tell him?

His fingers were numb with expectation, as he opened up the letter and read it, looking for the right words, the phrases that would make him throw away the letter and take her in his arms, whispering softly in her ear: _I love you too_.

However, it was not a love letter. It was a brief communication, from King Joffrey, warning that the Stannis troops were defeated in battlefield, their ships seized and destroyed by wildfire, their men killed and maimed, their leaders arrested, with exception of King Stannis, that ran away to Dragonstone with the few hundred of men still alive.

He stopped at the few hundred, remembering how Ser Davos told him that Stannis had more than 10 000 men in his command. If he remembered correctly, with the Reach, he had many troops, more than 20 000 men in total. Did they all died? 

He continued reading, in awe to the details added by the King, of guts and blood flying in his body, as he attacked boys doing their duty to their lord. It made his stomach twirl and he wished he hadn’t drink so much wine that day.

At the end of the letter, it read:

_ After this great victory, myself and my lady mother, the Widow Queen, invite Your Grace, the King and Queen in the North to the marriage of Lady Margeary Tyrell to King Joffrey Baratheon and Lord Willas Tyrel to Cersei Baratheon, to happen by the end of the moon. _

He halted, reading it over and over again. The Tyrells? Joffrey was marrying the Rose of Highgarden? How? The Reach was an ally to Stannis…

Treason.

He felt his heart lose a beat and his hands curling over the paper, as his mind raced and his eyes read the date. It had been laying under the armchair for more than a fortnight. His feet started to move before he could think straight, his hands reaching to the door and opening with a push, his body coming towards his wife, that smiled to him with a plate filled with muffins by her side. Her smile faded as she saw his eyes and the letter in his hands, making her face grow paler and her hands put aside the muffin she had been craving since the other day.

“You knew about it?” Robb asked, his voice trembling.

“I… my lord… I…” Haelena started to say, her eyes darting around the room. She felt Robb’s hands reaching for her shoulders, prompting her out of the chair, the plate falling on the ground, the porcelain pieces smashing near her feat.

“Answer me, woman!” He barked at her, shaking her with anger.

“Let me go! You’re hurting me!” She screamed, pulling him out of her way. He was too strong, his hands clasped around her shoulders, like he was willing to brake her.

“You knew about this letter! You knew what happened to Stannis army! You deliberately hided that information from me, your husband, your king!” He exhaled, his knuckles white against her nightgown. “This is treason, my lady! This is treason! You’ve been insisting in doing things behind my back, but I can’t find excuses for this behavior anymore.”

“I… Robb… I thought you would be upset… It was never my intention…” She started to say, but was interrupted by her husband.

“Of course, I’m upset! Men died, thousands of them, in the most gruesome manner. I could’ve helped, I could’ve avoided this catastrophe. I would not let King Stannis down, I would have remained by his side, while the whole Highgarden burned in hell! I would win his war for him, my 30 000 men would win this war! But I listened to a woman, who’s too afraid to do the right thing, too afraid of the loses, too afraid to be honorable and just.” He exclaimed, taking his hands out of her, throwing the wrinkled letter on the ground. He was breathing with difficulty and Haelena could see his hands shaking against his thighs.

“Robb…”

“No. Not now. Let me be.” Said the King, walking towards the door. 

Before closing it behind him, he heard her soft steps running towards somewhere and the sickly sound of her vomiting, over and over again.

— —

“Let me call the Maester, Haelena, darling.” Said Sansa, placing a soft cloth over her good-sisters forehead.

It has been nearly five days since the Queen fell ill, remaining at her bed, sickly vomiting, without courage to eat or sleep properly. By her side, solemn and serious, stood Lady Visenya, her eyes always with her granddaughter, her hands feeling her skin and her lips crisped. Even though she tried to remain unpreoccupied, Sansa knew that the old lady had worries of her own, mumbling in a low voice how the Valyrians had never gotten sick in their lives and Robb Stark would be the one to blame about the death of her dear girl.

Sansa frowned her brow, as she folded some cloths. Robb had not appeared in his wife’s chambers since Haelena felt ill. Neither his servant appeared to know about the Queen. She had gone to him, two days earlier, complaining about the lack of propriety and reason: she was his wife, as a matter of fact, and deserved more than the silence treatment he was giving to her. 

She pleaded to him: 

“Go see your wife, Robb. She is sick, very sick. We don’t know what is happening to her! She needs you.”

And he said nothing, watching her with the Tully blue eyes that both of them shared.

Since then, she refused to speak to him again. Robb can go to hell, Sansa thought.

“I don’t need a maester, Sansa. I’ll be fine. It’s just something I ate. I think it was the muffins. They had an odd taste.” Murmured the Queen, as Sansa went to the door, taking from the maid’s hands a bowl of porridge.

“Try at least a bit of porridge, dear.” Said Lady Visenya, in a gentle voice that Sansa had only heard after the Queen got sick. “You need to eat.”

They placed the porridge over her lap and she took small sips, her face pale and her breath quick, trying to avoid the wave of sickness coming over her. Sansa crisped her lips, watching her good-sister suffering terribly, alone, only with her grandmother and she by her side.

“Any sign of fever?” She asked Lady Visenya, who denied shortly with her head.

Her mother came every day, her brows furrowed in concern, as she seated by Haelena’s side and tried to make her eat her supper. She was very worried with the Queen and apparently had forgotten Bran’s escape enough to care for her as she would care for her own daughter.

They pleaded and begged the Queen to allow the Maester to come, but Haelena was sure it was nothing to be concerned. She said that she was feeling a bit nauseous for some days and, despite the feeling, she remained eating the pastries that Cook provided her every day. Surely, the sickness would have happened anyway, she said. It was only worse because of the cravings she felt, the eagerness to taste muffins like the one’s she used to have in Valyria.

However, Sansa was sure it was not _only_ that. She heard the rumors spread by the servants, of how they heard the King screaming in anger with the Queen, the broken porcelain by the floor, Your Grace storming out of her room and never coming back. Haelena was found vomiting over the balcony, her hands shacking and her cheeks without any color.

Sansa was certain that Robb was the responsible for the illness and she felt anger and fear coming down her heart. She loved her new sister and she loved her brother. He might be angry with his wife, for any reason whatsoever, but she knew he cared for her. He maybe even loved her. 

“That’s it. I’m calling the maester.” Announced Sansa, taking off the apron and walking, with much determination, towards the door, not allowing her uneasy heart to hear Haelena’s protests.

She practically ran through the halls, her furred boots clinking on the stone floor, searching for the stair to the maester’s chambers, far up in the south tower. She had never been to the maester’s chambers and she barely reminded the path she was once told to follow. It was behind a curtain, she was sure.

Or maybe a tapestry?

Behind the library, crossing the path of two great halls, there was a huge tapestry, showing a unicorn over a green field, followed by three great direwolves. At the corner of the image, apple trees and rose bushes, showing the enchantment of the northerner kingdom. Behind it, Sansa heard a small sound, vague and indistinct, and she felt reassured: that sound maybe was from Maester Luwin. She was on the right path.

Lifting the tapestry and entering the dark chamber, she walked with care, feeling her way with her hands and her feet, until her eyes got used to the half-darkness and her ears started to search for the small moans she could distinctively hear now. 

In a corner, under a small window, the sun touching their skins, stood Theon, his body moving slightly, as a maid, with her cap tilted in her hair, embraced him with her legs, moving her hips towards his own. She was sustained by Theon hands, guiding her body in that strange movement, one hand over her bare bottom and other placed gently over her back. He groaned a little, opening his moss green eyes straight at Sansa.

She stood still, afraid of moving, her mind fixed at that strange scene, oblivious to the fact that her good-sister was still sick in her chamber, vomiting her lungs out, waiting for the maester Sansa was supposed to fetch.

Theon remained with his eyes fixed in her, his movements starting to be more frenetic and erratic, the girl moaning loudly over him, his groans entering Sansa mind and making her heart beat faster, her hands sweating profusely. He stared at her like a hunter watched his prey, like a fox waited for a tiny rabbit.

It was a sense of fear and danger, clamoring to her get out as fast as she could. However, she was drunk with the atmosphere, by Theon moss green eyes eating her alive, by the sweat dripping over his forehead, by the white knuckles of his fingers and the way he licked his lips in expectation.

And then he groaned, a deep and loud groan, that made her tingly with anticipation and her legs weak. Noticing that whatever was happening there was done, she ran away, far away from Theon’s grip, once again searching for the Maester’s chambers.

— —

He touched her with care, his gloved hands over her body, pulling her eyelids, asking her to show her tongue and tell him how it started.

Haelena had told the same story over and over again, about how she felt nauseous but still had a sudden urge for muffins, the blueberry one’s she used to eat when she was a girl in Valyria, buttery and soft, moist and sweet over her tongue. Certainly, the milk used was sour and gave a bad taste, making her throw up immediately after eating them. 

Surely, she had something in her stomach, making her vomit so much, something that had never happened to her in all her life, that’s true. However, she was in a new place, with new people and new diseases. She was expecting something to happen like that.

Maester Luwin stood very still by her side, only his chains clinking in a soft background noise. He had gentle eyes and a nice smile. He talked with kindness and slowly, making her feel more comfortable with his presence. She feared to be a nuisance to the poor man, considering that she was almost sure that she was recovering on her own. After nearly five days just eating porridge and soup, she almost felt normal again.

She avoided thinking about Robb. He had his rights and she shouldn’t have read his letter and hidden it from him. If he wished to stay away from her, she must oblige. It was not like she could attend any sexual activity on the state she found herself in.

“Your Grace, have you been feeling exhausted, lately?” the old maester asked her in his calm voice and she thought, remembering on how it was difficult to get up in the mornings. She was always tired and sleepy, which was not bad, considering that she had nothing to do, as she was excluded from the work as a chatelaine in Winterfell.

“Well, yes, I do.” She answered in a most regal manner.

The maester nodded and asked:

“And the cravings, they are very common?”

She thought about it. Indeed, she craved the muffins. But it was only that. 

No, she remembered. She had been craving for little lemon cakes and kidney pies, things that she had never experienced in her childhood but the mere thought of it already made her mouth water. And when she asked for Cook to produce her desires and they arrived at her chambers, she would refuse to eat it. The smell, raunchy and greasy, would make her stomach twirl and twist, the sickness coming to her throat. 

“Well, sometimes.” She added simply.

The maester had a slight smile in the corner of his mouth, like he had a secret to tell her. He nodded and continued the examination. He asked permission to her grandmother to feel her belly, tender and soft under his covered digits and her breasts, his eyes turned to the side, as she twisted, uncomfortable, under his hands, as the region was sore and turgid.

The maester paused, closing the buttons of her nightgown and turning to his patient, whose pale face and huge eyes watched him with so many questions. At last, he asked:

“When was the last time you had your moonblood, Your Grace?”

She felt her cheeks getting flustered. The aspects of womanhood were never discussed out loud, especially with men. She felt weird, as she opened her mouth to answer. She halted.

Haelena thought she had her blood by the last full moon, as she always had. However, she couldn’t remember. She forced her mind, trying to think about the days she stood quiet in her chamber, warm blankets around her and a cup of tea in her hands. She would not venture so much outside, due to the cramps she always felt during those days.

She couldn’t push her mind enough, she couldn’t remember when she had her last blood flow. She stood in a stunned silence, eyes wide looking at the maester, that now was caressing her hand in reassuring motions, his warm eyes glistening to her.

“I can’t remember. I… simply… can’t…” She answered in a whisper, as she saw the grin in the old man’s face get wider and a chuckle come from Lady Visenya. Now, it must be very serious. Her grandmother was not prone to chuckles at all. “Is it serious?”

“Your Grace, you’re with child.” Said Maester Luwin softly, patting her hand. “You’re going to have a baby.”

Haelena kept staring at him with her huge maroon eyes, her lips opening and closing without a word coming out of them. A baby? 

“I must congratulate the King. You had a very profitable wedding night, my lady. Not more than six moons to have a child in your arms.” Said the old man, his chains clinking as he moved without hurry out of the room, slow steps and an excited hum coming from his lips.

Her grandmother took her hand in hers and she had a victory smile, her violet eyes shining like two rocks over Haelena.

“We are safe, my dear. Our lineage is safe. A baby! So soon!” Lady Visenya almost sang in relief and happiness, her hands closed tight with her granddaughter’s.

_ So soon _ …

This sentence kept repeating in her stunned mind, her thoughts racing through the days and moons that passed, thinking and imagining. 

A babe. Robb’s babe.

No, the sudden memory came to her, the last memory she had of her flow coming. She was in her saddle, extremely worried that her moonblood would spoil her royal garment, a very rich white brocade. She had asked Lord Manderly to rest for some time at the woods some miles from Castle Black and there she checked if her rags were still in place, protecting the rich fabric from her own blood. She couldn’t meet Lord Mormont, Commander of the Night’s Watch, in dirty clothing. It was a blessing her flow would end very soon and she could continue with her visit, without cramps and sore breasts.

She watched her hands trembling over her lap, the sudden urge to vomit coming again, prompting Lady Visenya to place the urinal near her, holding Haelena’s chocolate hair as the girl put away the porridge she had earlier. Her grandmother would whisper sweet things to her, reassuring that everything would be fine, that she had five children and all her pregnancies were easy…

However, Lady Visenya didn’t understand. 

After that day she didn’t had her moonblood anymore. After all, she didn’t meet Lord Mormont. It was Lord Snow waiting for her, the same man that made her skin tingle with his presence and her mind race in satisfaction. The same man for whom she surrendered her body every night, feeling loved and beautiful for the first time in her life.

The man she was avoiding to think, to maintain her wedding vows and move on with her life. The man that loved her deeply, but not enough to forget his duty and his honor, to run away with her and live together. It was this man who was the father.

It was Jon’s child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Keep commenting and liking!
> 
> Let's talk about this chapter, shall we?
> 
> Hel didn't learn with her past mistakes: of course Robb wouldn't enjoy being lied to, especially by his own wife and queen... Will their marriage survive this fight? Will Robb lose his trust forever? What will happen?
> 
> Sansa and Theon: the beginning. I love all pics involving them and I truly believe they would be a amazing couple in real life. I will start to show Sansa more as a woman, I her own story, for her own rights, as Winter is coming to our story.
> 
> Well, well, well... Haelena days with Jon had a very important consequence! A child! Will she keep the secret about the true father of her babe? Will she lie to Robb and all the Starks? Does she knows she is carrying the true heir to the Iron Throne in her belly?
> 
> Please, excuse any english mistakes that I committed, as English is not my first language.
> 
> I will be posting a new chapter every friday! Yay!


	20. Of love and loss

The hounds were agitated, waiting to be released and start to sniff the surroundings, in search for the prey. Robb was looking to the bushes, trying to see the small movement that would make him run towards it, the hounds jumping forward, taking in their mouth the small rabbit they were waiting for. It was a tense moment, of expectation and eagerness. A moment so quiet and still that could make him forget his problems.

Haelena.

He felt enraged for her disobedience, enraged by the fact she lied to him and fooled him, again. Watching her in the half-lit room, the tears falling down her cheeks and her mind searching for words, he hated her. Deeply. Hate her was part of his being.

But then he left, a sickness in his throat, the urge to yell at her stronger than ever, to ask her to leave his castle, his kingdom and never come back. To go back to Valyria and stay fair away. Outside the door, he could hear her throwing up somewhere inside the room and his heart skipped a beat, a sudden urge to take her in his arms and ask for forgiveness.

He was a fool.

“Robb?” Screamed a voice behind him, making the hounds bark and the rabbit flee quickly through the woods. The king sighed and gave the servant by his side his bow and the dogs, that now tried to force their way to where the rabbit had fled to.

“Theon.” He said, walking towards the friend with his brow furrowed. “What are you doing in here?”

Theon seemed serious, for once in his life, the moss green eyes staring the old friend fixedly. 

“I came to fetch you. I know you don’t have the interest to visit Haelena’s sick bed, but Maester Luwin is searching for you.” Announced Theon, motioning with his head to the castle behind them, half covered by the trees in the Wolf’s Wood.

“Did she got worse?” Asked Robb in half voice, his eyes suddenly wide and aware.

He had been avoiding his wife for too long, ignoring the pleads of his family to visit her chamber, to help them care for the girl, laying in the huge canopy bed, her lips pale and dry. He thought about her all the time, with a mix of emotions: anger and sadness, all mingled in his head. Even when Sansa came to him and begged him to go with her, hold the Queen’s hands and ask her to accept the Maester’s visit, he kept a solemn look, very serious, closing his heart to her pleading. 

“I don’t know, Robb.” Answered Theon. “But I think you should go.” He added, watching his friend start to run towards the castle, the huge wolf in his heels, a sense of urgency he had controlled for nearly a week, suddenly out of control.

He arrived at his solar out of breath, sweat dripping over his forehead and an urge to take out his doublet. Sitting around the hearth, was Maester Luwin, his father, his mother and Sansa. They were talking in hushed tones, but none of them seemed truly worried, with a different sparkle in their eyes. They had turned their gaze to Robb, gulping air while Grey Wind licked his hand.

“Your Grace, I’ve been searching for you. It was very kind of Lord Theon to fetch you…” The King interrupted the Maester speech, walking towards the man and placing his hands on either side of his shoulders.

“Is she dying, ser?” Robb asked, his voice trembling, out of fear and worry.

“Oh, my lord, not at all. I’ve the pleasure to inform you that the Queen is expecting a child.” The maester placed a gentle hand over the king’s hand. “Your Grace will be a father.”

Robb took a step back, taking his hands out of the shoulders of the maester, his eyes darting around the room. His mother had tears in her eyes and his father had one of his mysterious smiles in his face. Sansa watched him solemn, showing not one single drop of emotion, her eyes fixed in his, daring him to enter his wife chambers, daring him to finally see her.

He dared. 

Without thinking, he opened the door with a single push. She was under a pile of fur, pale as the pillows under her. She raised her eyes to him and crisped her lips, not daring to move or to speak to him. Haelena looked at him with her maroon eyes shining in challenge, waiting for him to continue his treats, to hold her angrily and spit petty words.

“I… I don’t know...” He whispered, unable to move.

“You don’t need to say a thing, my lord.” She answered, anger filling her mouth. “You’re the King and I’m your subject. I’ve done you wrong and I’ve challenged your authority. There’s no need to say anything or try to change any matter just because… Just because…” She couldn’t finish the sentence, her voice trembling.

“Just because you’re with child?” He asked in a single breath, his legs taking a step forward.

She looked away, avoiding his gaze, nodding in approval. It was a short nod, that made Robb’s heart fill with something he never felt. It seemed like he would burst in happiness, that he would explode like a gunpowder barrel. He felt a tenderness deep in his heart, for this child that he had just discovered its existence. He wished to take the little body in his hands and call it son.

“No. I need to say something.” He walked slowly towards his wife. “It’s my child and you’re his mother. He is going to be the heir of the North. What happened to us… What you did to me… Will always be with us, but I hope we can forget. For us, the realm and our child.”

He sat on the bed, his eyes fixed in hers. He could see the tears running down her cheeks, her nose getting pinker and her lips very red. She sobbed and his heart broke a little.

“Oh, Robb… I can forget and I even can forgive… We could have what we had for the last few moons. We could be happy, I think.” She choked over the tears. His soft hands over her cheeks got harder and he furrowed his brows. He thought about the way her father defended her when she took Bran away from them, how his mother took care of the girl who felt ill after he discovered she was lying to him, about his sister who begged him to go visit the Queen and stopped talking to him after he refused.

He remembered their faces when he entered the room. They all knew about her pregnancy… He was the last one to know. He felt the air leaving his body and refusing to go back, the loneliness creeping in his mind. The Queen was loved, much more loved than he was. He was just a pawn in her game, someone she needed to be there, to take away everything he truly cared for. How could he love her?

“I don’t think I trust you enough to forgive again, my lady.” He felt a tear dripping down his nose. “Let’s do our duty and be the Queen and King our realm deserve. And just that.”

— —

Sansa was roaming around the glass gardens, collecting flowers to be placed in her brother’s solar. She felt her heart light and happy, since discovering she would be an aunt. She wished to throw a ball in honor of her good-sister, inviting all the lords and ladies of the most prestigious houses in the North to celebrate the news of an heir. She wished to send a sassy letter to Queen Cersei, announcing the coming of a new royal in the world.

A beautiful child, more beautiful than those lion cubs the Lannister queen had, with their blond insipid hair and pale green eyes.

Sansa smelled a bush of gorse, taking her scissors and cutting some branches. She never liked Cersei Lannister, especially after learning the stories of her personality after her father came back from King’s Landing. Cersei has conquered the right to be feared and Sansa was afraid of the things she could be capable of doing.

However, right now, Sansa wished to brag about the happiness in her home and send Cersei straight to the seven hells.

The girl sighed, watching the bouquet in her hands. She couldn’t brag, unfortunately. Her brother and her good sister asked for the pregnancy to remain enclosed to the castle walls and the close family. It was the first pregnancy in Haelena’s family for many years now and she was nervous about the development of it, which was very understandable. Still… There was something about it… She felt in the air, something that the Queen kept to herself…

“Such a lovely bouquet…” She heard a voice coming from behind her, making her freeze and her heart beat faster. Theon.

Since the day in the tower, she had successfully avoided him, running tasks and chores all over the castle, very busy. She knew that if she looked in his moss green eyes, memories from when Theon was closed in a tight embrace with the servant girl would come back to her memory.

Well, she learned that she didn’t need to look in his eyes to bring back memories.

“Theon. May I be of any assistance?” Sansa mumbled, turning around and lifting her chin up, in an arrogant look. She was a tall girl, almost the same height as the Ironborn boy. That way, with that little tilt in her head and ice in her blue eyes, looking him under the lashes, she donned her armor and hoped to not blush like a maid in front of him.

He wore a smirk in his face, making his moss green eyes shine in a strange manner. Sansa knew that, if she stared at them for too long, she would blush like an imbecile and he would win. But if she looked away, he would know that she trembled under him, making him win again. Gods, what she could do?

“I believe we have some matters to attend.” He whispered in a wicked manner. “Something about tapestries, stairs and a servant girl.”

“I have nothing to talk to you.” She tried to say in a clear voice, feeling her cheeks blush. She raised her chin a little more, fighting the urge to flee.

“Oh, but I do.” He replied, taking a flower from her hand and smelling its scent. “Why you’ve remained there, Sansa?”

“I beg your pardon?” She said, her voice a little shaky under cheeks of a very bright red.

“You can put your chin down, dear. Soon you will be looking at the sky and I will miss your beautiful blue eyes.” He said, placing a hand under her chin and pushing with care, making her look him straight in his eyes.

“I didn’t allow you to flirt with me, Lord Theon.” She was able to say, with a slightly shaky voice.

“So, it’s Lord Theon now. What changed? The fact you saw me making love to a girl? That’s the problem?” He joked, taking the flower in his fingers and driving its petals over her pink cheeks.

“I will not answer that insult. It’s better if I leave now.” She answered, taking a step forward. But Theon didn’t move, his body fixed in front of her, so close she could feel the warmth coming from him.

“Don’t do these little games with me, Sansa.” The wickedness in his eyes vanished for a while and, for a moment, she saw something deeper under his irises. “Why did you stay? Why did you not flee in complete terror?”

The silence took them, as Sansa looked him straight in the eyes, the cockish expression vanished from her face, leaving only an intrigued gaze.

“I was curious.” She whispered and felt ashamed by her trembling hands, still holding the bouquet in front of her body.

“Curious? You didn’t know what happened between a man and a woman?” He asked, playing with the daisy in his hands, a raised eyebrow in his forehead.

“I’m not an innocent, Theon. I know very well what happens in the bridal bed. There were… images… in Lord’s Oberyn solar.” She said, raising herself an eyebrow.

“Oh, really?” He smiled, a wry smile that made her shiver.

“Well, yes. However…” She paused to catch her breath, that had vanished from her lungs without warning. “However, it’s different when you see it happening in front of your eyes.”

He was so close now, she could brush the flower petals in his doublet, his head tilted in an intrigued manner.

“And do you wish to try it for yourself?” He whispered near her ear, making her skin damp with something unknown.

“Lord Theon, you forget yourself.” Sansa whispered, out of breath.

And suddenly, there were Theon’s lips pressed in hers, searching and exploring her mouth. She felt her knees weak and the flowers drop from her hands. It seemed like a lifetime, while it was just a moment, before she took her lips from his, wide eyes looking at the cocky man, with his sly smile.

Without thinking and with trembling hands, Sansa stroke him across his face, running towards the exit, leaving the flowers all over the floor.

— —

Jon couldn’t sleep. 

When he closed his eyes, he kept remembering the chaos and destruction he saw in Hardhome, things that would haunt him forever. 

They had arrived at the small village after two days ride and, at the beginning, they thought they were not in the right place. It was rumored that Hardhome had become a sanctuary for some wildlings that didn’t wish to stay under the protection of the Night’s Watch. They were led by a woman, an old rag, whispering prophecies about boats and salvation, as it was told. That’s why they though Mance would be there, being protected by his people, waiting to flee for sanctuary or reunite troops and invade the North again.

However, the village was empty, just overgrown grass and bones. There was not a sign of human presence and it seemed as if the place had, indeed, remained forgotten for more than 600 years. 

Until they started to find a place to lay camp and noticed some things, like utensils and ceramic, hidden under bushes and mounts of dirt. There were latrines dug in the earth, outside the camp premises and fishnets laying around on the beach, covered by fresh snow. And near the end of the village, there were boats, nice and steady ones, with a lower deck for livestock and new sails, made of leather. He and Tormund took the boat and tested it in the rough sea, bringing it to the village, still anchored to the beach sands.

They made a small fire and laid under the northerner sky. Jon could see the lights dancing above him, the stars shining like he never saw in all his life and he felt glad to be alive. He asked for the old gods to dream of Haelena that night, like he always dreamt, wishing to feel her warmth and see her smile once more. With this thought he closed his eyes and waited for her.

But she didn’t come. Instead, he was woken up by the snarl of Ghost, very close to his ear. Instantly, he got up, kicking Tormund, who as fast asleep by his side. Noises were coming from somewhere in the darkness, making his skin tingle and his heart beat fast, the horses neighing near them.

And then, she saw. The corpses running towards him, many, in different stages of decomposition, dark and dead orbits staring at him. He heard Tormund taking the sword from the sheath, arming his position, his eyes glistening over the fire. Jon felt his fingers numb, as he did the same, watching Ghost preparing to attack.

They didn’t had time to think, as the hoard came towards them, Jon attacking and kicking around, feeling the blade passing through empty bodies, that fell down like trees on the soil. They were scared of the fire, avoiding be near it, like bats in the sunlight.

Seeing that, Tormund took of his cape, placing over the fire, watching the flames take it. In a solid motion, he took it from the fire pit and threw it in the corpses, whose bodies, in contact with the flaming cape, started to combust almost immediately, igniting the dead around it, screaming from terror and pain as their lifeless bodies were engulfed by the flames.

Jon repeated the action, taking his lord commander cloak, furred with a dark pelt, that accepted the fire very well, throwing over some wights, that came from their other flank, bypassing the burning mass where once stood white walkers and Tormund’s cloak. Although it worked for a while, the dead had already attacked their horses, that were screaming in the top of their lungs and Ghost was extremely tired, his neck moist with blood.

Seizing the moment, when the corpses were worried about the flames around them, he motioned to Tormund and they entered the freezing water, towards the boat. Ghost peddled with energy, as Jon swan with all his strength, watching as the number of wights over the beach increased, staring at them, the silence broken by the scream of the horses. However, the corpses didn’t dare to enter the water and follow the humans.

Tormund got inside the boat, followed by Jon that, with a rope, hoisted the huge and heavy direwolf inside the vessel. As Tormund set the sails and Jon comforted the huge animal, he watched Hardhome and saw as a man, pale blue and icy eyes, walked towards them, stopping near the breakwater. 

He wasn’t a dead thing, like the wights who were screeching, colliding against each other, lost somewhere between life and death, when their soul was already far gone. But this man, no. He was different. He stared at the boat, motionless and quiet. Almost like he was thinking…

Now, Jon, that’s not time to remember it. They were alive and well, even Ghost, poor fella. They roamed around in search for Mance, after they arrived at Eastwatch with tales of the ghouls of Hardhome. However, they found nothing. Not a sign of the old king of the wildlings.

That thought made Jon nervous.

He heard a scratch in his window and looked at it, seeing a raven. Usually, they would go to the Maester tower, where Sam would spend all his days, searching for the lore and the truth behind the white devils, as the corpses were once called. It was very difficult for them miss their destination.

He opened the window, feeling the wind blowing in his skin, as a tiny little black raven entered, his curious eyes watching his surroundings. It saw the old bear’s Crow perched near the fireplace and croaked, making the old Crow look at him with a solemn and bored look. In the tiny raven’s leg, there was a letter, enclosed and sealed. Jon read it with his heart in his throat and he felt the tears in his eyes.

Oh, he has been a fool… And yet… How could he not remain a fool for her?

Ghost came wagging his tail, his huge snout sniffing the letter in Jon’s hands, his tongue licking his master’s fingers. The wolf placed his head over Jon’s shoulders and the bright red eyes watched the lord commander, waiting for a reaction beyond the tears dripping in its fur.

“Oh, Ghost…” Said the man, placing a hand over its head and scratching between the ears. “Robb is going to be a father, boy.”

Father, father, father, father…

Repeated Lord Mormont’s crow.

“Aye, boy. Hel is going to be a mother.”

Hel, hel, hel, hel, hel…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Keep commenting and liking!
> 
> Let's talk about this chapter, shall we?
> 
> Poor Robb :( he’s clearly mistrustful of Hel and is driving his anger towards anyone or anything that cross his way. At least he’s happy that he’s going to have a child! Or will he discover the truth?
> 
> Theon is after Sansa! I love the two of them and their dynamic! Will she avoid him or will she allow his pursuit after this kiss?
> 
> Poor Jon :( he nearly died in Hardhome and saw the true power of the White Walkers... and then, he discovered that his love is pregnant with someone else’s child. Or so he thinks.
> 
> Will Jon discover he’s the father? Will Robb leave the dark place in his mind? Will he forgive Hel? Will Sansa fall for Theon?
> 
> Please, excuse any english mistakes that I committed, as English is not my first language.
> 
> I will be posting a new chapter every friday! Yay!


	21. Of danger and freedom

“Here you go…” Said Sansa, softly, as she helped the Queen in her nightgown. She could see the small bump in her good-sister’s stomach and that made her heart skip a beat. Since Haelena discovered her pregnancy, the Stark girl took for herself the role of lady-in-waiting, following her like a shadow around the castle.

It was not due, only, to a case of complete love for her future nephew or niece. She was avoiding Theon as well. Even though that her mind was replaying that kiss over and over in her head.

“Are you sure Queen Cersei didn’t answer my letter? It has been nearly a moon since I sent it…” Complained the royal, siting in the chair and letting Sansa brush her hair.

“I am, Hel. Nothing came from King’s Landing, since the raven with the news about King Joffrey’s death.” Answered the girl, watching her friend’s sad eyes lost somewhere in the past.

It was a shock for all in Winterfell. The king was a young man, younger than Robb himself… It was his wedding day! His wife should be radiant with the newlywed gleam and not donning the black silks of a widow.

“Poor Queen Cersei.” Whispered Sansa. “I don’t like the woman but the thought of losing a child… It is unbearable.”

The girl felt a shiver coming, remembering the gruesome manner the King died, poisoned by Tyrion Lannister, that was arrested and incarcerated. He would face his crimes sooner or later, however. The crime for killing a monarch was death in the gallows.

Sansa glanced again to her good-sister, who had her brows furrowed, eyes facing the mirror in front of her.

“Something is wrong, dear?” The Stark girl asked, raising and eyebrow.

“Did you have any news from Jon, Sansa?” The Queen asked, raising from the chair and walking towards her bed.

“Nothing, dear. Why? Did you saw something in the flames?” Said Sansa, as she adjusted the covers over Haelena’s body.

The Queen looked back at Sansa like she had woken up from a dream, eyes staring deep in her blue irises.

“No, nothing. That’s nothing to be worried about.” A fragile smile came from her lips. “Good night, dear.”

With a tiny curtesy, Sansa left the room, her hands still holding the Queen’s shawl, as she walked towards her own chamber, a bit far away from the royal couple. Something wasn’t right… But… What could it be?

“Well, it’s a bit late for a lady to be walking alone in the castle, isn’t it?” Said a voice by the great hall, poking the fire in front of her. She watched as the figure straighted and turned to her, moss green eyes shining in the dim light.

“Lord Theon.” Sansa whispered, out of breath.

“Lady Sansa.” He had a smile in the corner of his lip. “Well, it seems like I haven’t seen you for ages! Well, actually… If I remember it correctly, I don’t see you since that day in the garden.”

Sansa felt her color draining from her cheeks, as the thoughts of what happened under the glass ceiling came back to her mind. She felt that strange rush coming from her heart, the dizziness in her head, the same she felt late at night, laying between her silk sheets, as the moss green eyes of Theon Greyjoy came to her mind.

“I don’t expect you to recall it…” He started to say, walking towards her. However, he was interrupted by the girl, who placed a hand in front of her, as a warning for him don’t come closer.

“Please, Theon. Enough with these games.” She felt the anger coming from her heart. Anger and shame, for being made a fool in her own house. “I know what you want and I will only say that: how dare you? I’m the sister of your King and the daughter of the man that raised you like his own child. I will not accept this treatment! I’m a lady and not a milk maid to be bedded and discarded whenever you want.”

Theon raised an eyebrow, while a smirk appeared in his lips. He crossed his arms and opened his legs, watching her with a tilted head.

“And why do you think I would do that?”

She grasped harder the shawl in her hands, watching him furiously.

“I’m not daft, ser. You’ve been chasing me since I’ve seen you with that girl behind the stairs. Before that, you didn’t even dare to glance at me. You are only interested because you saw me as a new shiny object to have for a while.” She spit her words like poison darts over him, wishing for her legs to stop trembling under her.

“Now, I know you don’t listen to this very often, my lady, but you’re wrong.” He walked towards her, in his charming and carefree away, the way pirates in love stories would walk towards the heroine. “When I saw you by the stairs, I saw you as a woman. A woman that felt passion and desire, that deserved to be loved properly. To be kissed properly. To be bedded properly. Not the young girl that would follow me around Winterfell, asking… no… begging for me to play with her.”

Sansa felt her knees shacking against each other, her heart beating fast in her throat.

“I finally saw what I was missing, after all these years chasing milk maids and servants around the castle. And I desperately need to kiss you, Lady Sansa. Without being left with a purple eye.” He was so close now that she could reach him with her fingers. “How about that?”

Her only answer was her lips in his, her hands closing in his nape, his hands catching her by the waist, the Queen’s shawl forgotten by their feet. Sansa felt the rush of the kiss, secret and hidden, enter into her core and make her blood flush faster, her knees giving in and feeling the solid arms of Theon holding her in a tight embrace. The memories that kept, all those days, playing on her mind, were now brought to life and as the kiss got deeper and faster she knew only one thing:

That time, she wouldn’t run away.

— —

“Ser Jaime.” Said a voice behind him, making the knight turn from the amazing view of Blackwater Bay. There was Littlefinger, with a sly smile in his face, grey eyes watching the view in front of him. “A beautiful view indeed.”

It was. The sun was shining behind some clouds and the sea was a deep blue. The town was alive again, after the Battle and the Purple Wedding…

Jaime closed his eyes, taking away the memory of his own son laying in the ground, his face purple and disformed, eyes red like two apples, hands clasped around his own neck, searching for breath. He could remember Cersei, so beautiful in the Tyrell colors, running away from her groom and kneeling by her son’s side, screaming at the top of her lungs for help. She took his body in her arms, reminding of the days the boy was just a small babe, tiny and the size of a pillow, screaming for milk.

Now, his lungs were collapsing in front of his own mother.

“When you lost someone dear to you, sometimes, it seems unfair that life goes own as normal as it can be around you.” Said Lord Petyr, approaching his side. “King Joffrey will be missed.”

Jaime doubted that: he might have loved his son dearly, but Joffrey was not a nice boy. Or a kind one. He could hear the screams of the whores late at night, as he guarded the King’s chambers. Oftentimes, he had to pay for other’s silence, as they took the bodies away in the middle of the night, leaving a trail of blood behind them.

The knight even feared for little lady Margeary, with her big and doe like eyes, staring at her new husband with such eagerness that could made a maiden blush. But his fears didn’t last too long: by the end of the wedding feast his sister had lost a child, the rose of Highgarden lost her husband and Jaime had lost his family.

“He will.” Jaime murmured, his mind lost again in thoughts.

Since the wedding, Cersei refused to talk to him in private. He would see her figure all in black, followed by her husband, that fool. He couldn’t weep by the body of his boy, as he guarded it during those long days before the funeral. He couldn’t hold his daughter, as she arrived with the Dornish ensemble days after, looking like a young lady herself, eyes deep in sorrow. He couldn’t take care of his younger child, as he was the king now and couldn’t be afraid of anything.

Jaime couldn’t even listen to Tyrion, his younger brother, the smartest of them, the kindest of them. He couldn’t enter his prison cell without feeling an urge to throw up and curl up in anguish. He couldn’t enter without thinking that everything wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair.

If the Gods were good, none of this would have happened to him. All this death and sorrow.

Once, he was happy. When he was a boy, a squire for a noble knight. There, he was truly happy.

“Lost in thoughts?” Petyr insisted.

The knighted turned to him and shook his head, feeling a weak smile in his lips.

“I was thinking of happier days.” Said Jamie, turning back to the bright sea in front of him. “Days where I would roam around the land, helping a noble knight to aid maidens and fight for the poor.”

“I remember these days also.” Said the man by his side. “Where I was the faithful servant of the Tullys and Catelyn Stark was deeply in love with me. We would run away, you see. But Robert Baratheon happened and… Well.”

For a moment, Jaime felt sorry for the man. He didn’t pay much attention to Littlefinger, as he was a very private man, always lurking around and observing the crowd. He was neither good or bad. He was only… Petyr.

“I’m sorry.” Whispered Jaime, placing a hand in the man’s shoulders.

“No need to be sorry, Ser. The past remains in the past.” He said, smiling to the knight. “Anyway, I believe still in some righteousness in the world and if everything is correct, we would have our vengeance soon.”

That made Jaime take his hand from Littlefinger’s shoulder and turn his gaze back to the man. What on earth Petyr was up to?

“Explain yourself, Littlefinger.”

The man seemed a little bit embarrassed, like a child caught up in some mischief.

“I was really expecting to tell you this after I had all the facts straight. However, my sources are pretty certain that the rumors are true and we are very close to find the culprit.”

Jaime furrowed his brows, licking his lips with anxiety.

“What culprit, Petyr. You do know that I hate riddles.”

Littlefinger gave him a relaxed smile, the sparkle in his eyes comparable to the sea down below.

“For King Joffreys death, ser. I believe that your brother is not the one responsible to his own nephew’s end.” The man paused, taking a deep breath. “It’s true that the poison was in the wine that Lord Tyrion was serving… However, I truly believe that he was not the murderer that placed the venom there.”

“You caught the man, Lord Petyr? He is under arrest?” Asked Jaime, feeling the urge to run to the black cells and free his brother, asking for forgiveness and comprehension.

“Not yet, ser. I’ve learned about his existence through the best method to extract information: brothels. After the Blackwater Bay Battle, I had one of my most profitable days ever. Men, after passing through a bloodshed and surviving it, usually find a sudden urge to relieve their needs with a woman. Not only that, but boast about their victory and superiority.” The sun was setting in the sky and, over the sea, the men could see the dark blue sky coming from the deep waters. “All men do that, ser. And King Joffrey’s murderer did that as well.”

Jaime felt his heart pause in the middle of the beat.

“Will you be able to get to him, Lord Petyr?”

Littlefinger turned to the Kingsguard and placed a hand over the knight’s shoulder, watching Ser Jaime Lannister green eyes shine with expectation.

“If a brave knight could help us, I think I would.”

— —

Haelena sat under the weirwood tree, surrounded by a heavy fur cape, grey as the Stark sigil. She was wearing knitted wool gloves, a wool scarf and woolen socks under her woolen dress, a demand Sansa made before allowing the Queen to be left alone in the frozen garden, watching the warm pools by her feet and the steam twirling in front of her eyes.

She placed a hand over her swelled stomach and tried to feel… something. Anything, really. Since that last moon, when she discovered her pregnancy, she has been waiting for the moment when she would feel an incredible connection with the babe growing inside her.

She knitted little socks and gloves, blankets and bonnets, followed by Sansa and Lady Catelyn, who was overjoyed by the prospect of an heir for her oldest son. Lady Visenya was like her old self, even though, sometimes, Haelena would catch her with a silly smile on her lips, watching over her granddaughter.

The entire household was thrilled, as a matter of fact, following the lead of their lord and master, the king. Robb was a proud father for all to see, boasting and rejoicing of his grand work in planting a seed. Not any seed, the Queen thought to herself. The King was certain she was expecting his firstborn son.

He was indeed a proud father. But she rarely saw her husband now. It has been weeks since they shared their supper and he never went back to her chambers. She felt alone and discarded, like trash. When they would meet, Robb was kind and loving, like he was once with her. It was a mere show, she knew.

And she was a fool.

“May I sit by your side, Your Grace?” Said a voice by her side.

She raised her eyes and watched Lord Stark motion towards a spot by her side, where once stood Grey Wind. The wolf has been guarding her every day and every night, following her steps and resting his huge head over her knees. Today, however, he certainly felt a little bored, staring at the cold atmosphere from the garden, and left to, probably, hunt a squirrel around.

“Of course, my lord.” She answered, pulling the cape closer to her body, as the old man sat by her side.

He had a solemn look in his face, as his eyes roamed around the landscape. Slowly the silence took over them, as expected. Ned was not a man of many words and despite being very pleasant with her, he usually was very quiet. After the announcement of the pregnancy, he only nodded to her, eyes sharp and serious, pleasantries leaving his mouth.

His eyes: they were the problem, Haelena thought. Grey and dark, like Jon’s, serious and solemn. Usually, she could learn about someone character only by the way the sun shone in their irises. However, nowadays, she wasn’t able to do many things.

She crossed her hands over her lap, bothered. She wouldn’t think of that. Not now.

“I do appreciate the cold weather.” Said, suddenly, Lord Stark by her side, making the girl turn her head in surprise. “This is the first time, in my whole life, that I see Winterfell covered in so deep snow. The winter is indeed coming.”

Haelena cleaned her throat, not a very regal thing for her to do.

“Really?” It was all she could say, for her dismay.

“Yes, my lady. I was a summer child, after all. I grew watching the green grass growing right where we are sitting. Sometimes, the cold wind from the Wall would come, bringing light snow, that would cover the branches and freeze the grass.” He paused, feeling the snow in his fingers. “I only truly saw snow when I went with my father to Castle Black, so many years ago.”

The silence took over them, as Haelena felt the cold breeze entering her heart, only with the mere thought of the Night’s Watch. It has been unbearable to not think of her short stay by the Wall and the results of the trip.

“When Cat told me that you and the girls were visiting Castle Black, I wasn’t alarmed. I understood the need to see the true North, the lights gleaming over the night sky, the snow covering everything within its reach.” Said the Lord, his eyes lost in memories. “It is beautiful and dangerous and you could even believe that you’re in another world, far away from reality and duties.”

“It is true.” Whispered the Queen, her eyes staring at her good-father. “I’ve seen the desert of the dornish and the frozen landscapes in the true North and, my lord, I will never forget what I’ve experienced there.”

He turned to her, grey eyes over the girl.

“Aye, never forget.” He smiled, a sad motion that made her heart ache. “You see, once, I left Winterfell, like you and the girls did, towards an unknown land. I’ve seen things and learned things that will never leave my mind. And one day I returned home, as well, holding a secret in my arms, like you did.”

Haelena felt her stomach twirl and she placed her hands over it, feeling the slight bulge that have been growing over the last days. Her heart was racing under her ribcage as she dared to speak.

“My Lord?”

“I was the middle child for many years and, usually, we’re forgotten by the family. The firstborn is the heir, while the younger child will always be the babe. This made me quiet and serious, fond of watching the others and understanding their actions without the aiding of the words.” He paused, placing his huge hand over hers, resting in her stomach. “However, my lady, I feel that I need to listen, this time.”

“My lord, I certainly…” She started to say, but was interrupted.

“I will not judge you, Your Grace. I’ve secrets of my own. I promise to you that yours will be safe with me. I’ve seen you, standing at the window, after your wedding night. You were watching Jon, by my side, saying his farewells, as he was leaving to the Wall. I’ve seen his smile, my lady, and Jon is not a man prone to smirks.”

She didn’t realize she was holding her breath until she released it, after hearing his question:

“Were you in love with him?”

She nodded, feeling the freedom of saying it out loud:

“Yes.”

Ned turned his head to her stomach, where their hands were laying. He gazed back at the Queen, whose tears fell from her cheeks and her lips trembled in a controlled cry. His eyes were asking her and she understood what they meant. Nodding again, she released her cry and fell in Lord Stark’s arms, who hugged her, like he would do with his own daughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! i love your comments!
> 
> Let's talk about this chapter, shall we?
> 
> Sansa and Theon!! I love them and I think they deserve a nice love story. I love how outgoing and funny is Theon and how Sansa is smart and serious. they complement each other is many wonderful ways and I truly love their ship. Theon didn't passed through the Bolton's hands and Sansa have lived a fairly happier life. Will this change they will love each other? Will this impact their future decision?
> 
> I liked to write this pov of Jaime... He is really feeling the loss of his son, the marriage of Cersei and the prison of Tyrion. And now...Petyr is up to something... Who is the true killer of Joffrey? What is the plan of Petyr?
> 
> So, Ned discovered all about Hel and Jon's relationship. he is a good man and he sure do know how to keep a secret. Now, Hel will be free from this lie and maybe have someone to protect her secret with her. It's a very lonely matter, to not share a secret.
> 
> Please, excuse any english mistakes that I committed, as English is not my first language.
> 
> I will be posting a new chapter every friday! Yay!


	22. Of treason and gallows

Tyrion was free. They have taken the true assassin to the black cells and placed Lord Tyrion in a nice chamber, with sunlight and venetian blinds. The first few days, he was too afraid to leave the nook where he was hiding, afraid to feel the sun again in his skin and breath the fresh air coming from the bay, now free of the corpses and the burnt wood. Now, he was able to walk around during the night, climbing a chair to see over the windows, still stinking from his own urine and feces, a reminder of those horrible days in the cells.

Jaime sat uncomfortable, watching the members of the council stir a little around him. Lord Mace and Lord Willas gave him shy smiles, nodding from the other side. He liked the two of them, good hearted and kind people, even though he could still hear Cersei’s complaints about the crippled Tyrell boy. Varys was there and Pycelle as well, even Lord Petyr, that have been recently married to Lady Lysa, widow of Jon Arryn.

“We are gathered here to discuss the fate of the man named Luthor, taken into custody by our Kingsguard.” Said Lord Tywin. “He had declared himself guilty of killing his Royal Highness, King Joffrey Baratheon, last moon, placing the guilt of his deed in Tyrion Lannister, the cup-bearer. Now, I must ask: how he will face his acts?”

“With death, my lord.” Said Pycelle. “In the gallows. It is the right method of punishment for a traitor of the Crown.”

“And what if he isn’t a traitor, Maester Pycelle?” Asked Lord Petyr, in a soft voice.

“You have doubts about the man’s own declaration, Lord Baelish?” Asked the old man, raised eyebrows.

“Not at all, my lord.” Answered the man back. “I merely noticed that the man is not pledged to any house in the Six Kingdoms. As further investigation showed, and the man himself admitted, he is a Northerner, pledged to Robb Stark himself.”

Everyone in the table started to talk at the same time, worried faces and angry one’s, while Littlefinger sat calmly over the table and Lord Tywin remained unfazed. 

“He acted compelled by a Northerner lord?” Asked Varys. “If this is true, this could be considered as an act of war against the Six Kingdoms.”

“I thought you already knew that.” Said Petyr, eyes glistening like beads. “You used to be better informed, Varys.”

“My little birds usually just tell me the truth and not gossips, Lord Baelish.” Said Lord Varys, raising a sole eyebrow in defiance. “Or conspiracy theories.”

“If this is true, not only this man Luthor will face death penalty.” Said Lord Mace Tyrell. “Lord Eddard and King Robb could be considered guilty as well, even of inciting war and discontent in the land. They would be decapitated, as it is fit for a noble conspiring to kill another.”

The silence took the room and Cersei raised her voice. Wearing black from head to toe, a heavy veil covering her features, she seemed like a ghoul from ancient stories. 

“Queen Haelena needs to face the actions of her husband, as well. She must go to the block. With all the Starks.”

“Your Grace, certainly… woman and children, they could be spared…” Started Maester Pycelle, but he was interrupted by the Queen Regent.

“I was not spared of my own pain, ser. Why could she?” She halted, suddenly lost of breath. “We will march to the North and take the assassins of my child. And they will face the consequences of their acts.”

No one dared to say a word, the sudden tension over them. They were really marching to the North, winter arriving over their heads, to take young and brave King Robb, his beautiful wife and all the Starks of Winterfell? Would they allow to send them to the blocks? Were they monsters?

“Cersei…” Said Lord Tywin at last, appearing to be tired. “I’ve talked to Lord Willas previously and, as King Regent, he managed to find a way out of this awful situation.”

Jaime saw the head of his sister turning abruptly to where her new husband was sitting, very peacefully, while the other members murmured about revenge and bloodshed. He was a serious man, not very handsome like his brothers and sister, with a bad leg and a strange mood. However, many said that he was the brightest man in Westeros, competing head to head with Jaime’s own brother, Tyrion.

“The man said he’s from the North, even though he’s named Luthor, a name common in the Crownlands. He doesn’t have a surname or anything that identifies him as being a lord. He said he’s bounded to the King Robb himself… But failed in explaining his place in the household..” Said Lord Willas, his fingers taping the wooden table. “He knew about the correct type of poison used and explained how he entered the castle and placed the liquid without being seen. It clearly shows that he was the culprit for the death of Our Liege… But I question if he’s in fact a northerner.”

“But, if the man declared he was in charge by Robb Stark himself…” Said Lord Mace, eyes wide towards his own son. 

“Alas, it was Robb Stark name that was given during the questioning. As we don’t have proofs or alibis, we can’t charge him with the murder. We can, in fact, use this possibility to make arrangements that are interesting to us.”

“Arrangements?” Asked Cersei, shaking her head in denial. “He’s a criminal, he should be charged!”

“King Robb will not seek a war, especially when we offer him a far more viable option.” Said Lord Tywin calmly. “We lost many men during the battle with Stannis fleet… We can’t enter a war again, especially one surrounded by mystery and lies. If we are mistaken… The consequences may be severe.”

“What do you propose then, my lord?” Asked Mace Tyrell by the Hand’s side.

“It is quite simple, as a matter of fact.” Said the old lion, staring directly into Jaime’s eyes.

— —

He kissed her lips gently, soft kisses spreading by the corner of her mouth, his tongue tasting hers, as his hand pushed her body against his own. They were hidden in a corner of the glass garden, the same place where once he kissed her and she punched him. A gentle laugh left his throat and soon, Sansa was laughing with him, blue eyes shining under the bright sky.

He loved her eyes.

“Why are you laughing?” She whispered between his lips, stealing kisses again and again.

“I think I’m mad.” He answered, placing a hand softly over her right breast and feeling the nipple getting hard under his touch. “Only a mad man would ask the hand of his best friend’s sister in marriage.”

Sansa chuckled and he kissed her neck, wishing to take her right there, under the nearly winter sky. However, she was the princess of the North and would have a lavish wedding. Days of parties and music, culminating on her bedding in silk sheets, under the candle light.

“You have no need to worry, Theon. Robb loves me and wants to see me happy. He will not complain.” She said, caressing his cheek with her long fingers, and pulling him closer to her. “He is a good man.”

He was a good man, indeed, Theon thought about his best friend in the whole world. However, lately, he was changed. Since the Blackwater Bay Battle and the news about the Queen’s pregnancy, the King appeared to be constantly on the edge. He would stare through the window for long periods of time and be quite melancholic for many days. He would get angry for silly affairs and explode for anything that wasn’t of his liking.

Maester Luwin said this was quite common for new fathers to be. Pregnancies were often something out of the control of man and woman, left to the gods, working in their mysterious ways. And now, with the Queen starting to show under her loose dress, the dark circles under her eyes showing against her pale skin… Something didn’t seem right.

That’s why Theon prayed every night to the Drowned God to protect the good and gentle Queen, that always lied to Lady Catelyn about Sansa’s whereabouts so she could stay with him. Sansa also prayed for Haelena’s health, followed by the maids and servants every day in the sept, good and humble people that loved their sovereign to death.

“Now.” Whispered Sansa on the corner of his mouth. “Be brave. In a moon I will be in your arms as Lady Greyjoy, how about that?”

“It seems an awfully long time.” Theon complained, placing a hand over her bottom, feeling how it was round and nice under his touch. Sansa sighed and Theon felt hard against her, the need to take her under the glass ceiling stronger than ever. “You will be the death of me, Sansa.”

“Well, it wouldn’t be so difficult to wait for our marriage if you just took me.”

Oh, no. Not that again.

Theon stopped the light kisses he was spreading over her skin to look at her. Her mouth was red due to the friction of his beard and her eyes shone with lust. He knew that she felt the same way he was feeling right now. She was ready for him and willing to take his member inside of her.

However, she was a princess. A maid. His best friend’s sister.

She deserved better. She deserved more than dirt on her back and her maidenhood being taken on the floor of a garden.

“You’re trying to corrupt me again, Sansa?”

She chuckled and he smiled against her lips, as she opened hers to receive his tongue. She melted against his skin, tasting her tongue and she sucking her lips. Her hands were clasped in his hair, pulling and pushing, as she rubbed her body against his. His hands pulled her buttocks towards him and they were almost merged together.

“I think we should stop…” Whispered Theon.

“Oh, no, no.” She complained, pulling him back towards her. “Please, Theon.”

“Someone could catch us…” He really tried.

“No one comes here. Just Robb and Hel…” She explained, pulling his tunic out of his breeches.

“That’s even worse, Sansa.” Theon tried to pull her of his body, but it was so hard. “The last thing I need is your brother catching me staining your honor under his own roof.”

“Oh, please, Theon.” She was unlacing his breeches and he was catching fire.

“Is there any chance for him to appear?”

“No, no.” She mumbled, as Theon pulled her skirts up, feeling her womanhood in his digits. She let her breath out, trembling under him in ecstasy. “He almost never leaves his own chambers now. He is living like a secluded Maester.”

“Are you sure?” Sighed Theon, as Sansa’s hands roamed over his member.

“Yes, yes.” She almost cried, as he gently touched her, opening her to him. “Now, just love me. Soon I will be yours. I will be your lover and your wife. There’s nothing to fear…”

And Theon kissed her, determined to make her scream in delight, trying to control the urge to feel her with his manhood. It was enough to feel her moist and ready over his fingers, her body getting tighter around his digits, as his sweet Sansa got closer…

And closer…

And closer…

However, Sansa was wrong about a thing: it was true that Robb rarely left his chambers. Rarely. That day, watching the window and the sun shining over his lands, the last few rays they would have until the end of winter, he decided to read some papers by the glass garden, hoping to not see his own wife or anyone that could appear with a problem for him to solve.

He was only twenty years old and felt extremely tired. Tired of anyone or anything.

So, as Robb walked inside the garden that morning and he saw his sister in a tight embrace with Theon, he felt his blood draining from his body. His heart skipped a beat and suddenly, he didn’t know how to breath without assistance anymore. And then, Sansa let out a little moan, full of pleasure and lust. And the anger took over him.

— —

Haelena was on her solar, escorted by Lady Visenya and Lady Catelyn, when she first heard the shouting. She saw her good-mother raising her head, placing gently the embroidery by her side. Then, another scream came, a high-pitched voice, a woman voice, followed by an ominous sound of cracking.

“Dear Lord!” Exclaimed the Queen, getting up promptly and walking towards the great windows, placing a hand over her swollen belly, that have been growing day by day. “What is happening?”

And then she saw: Robb rolling over the floor with Theon, Sansa screaming towards them, begging for them to stop this nonsense at once. And Haelena felt her stomach curling. If it was the babe or the gruesome view of the two man in the courtyard, she would never know. She left in a hurry, followed by her grandmother and Lady Stark.

“Stop that! Stop that!” Cried Sansa, her face blurred with tears, her nose bright red. “Someone make them stop!”

However, every groom or servant that dared to enter the fight between the King and Lord Theon would receive kicks and punches in retaliation and would soon leave the area. They tried to place good and gentle Hodor between the two man, but the boy was too frightened by the sounds and shouting to stay near them and ran away.

Robb was over Theon, punching the man in the face over and over again. Haelena feared that Theon would pass out sooner or later when, with a movement, they changed places, Theon with his hands over Robb’s neck, chocking him with determination. Fighting with strength, Robb butted Theon, making both of them fall on the ground, in different sides, panting and sweating.

“Robb!” Haelena screamed. “Stop this at once!”

Not one of the fighters paid her mind. They got up again, circling each other, fists up and a dangerous look in their eyes. Sometimes they would try a jab and a quick, making them broke apart once again. And then, Robb glanced at her, with her hands holding the bulge in her stomach, eyes wide in fear, and Theon went forward, fists ready, taking Robb’s side and punching him in the chin.

Robb recovered fast from the punches, kneeing Theon in the groin and on the belly, one, two, three times, until the boy fell on the ground, curved over his on stomach, spitting blood. He didn’t get up and Sansa ran towards her lover in panic, raising her skirts over her ankles in a rush.

“You stay exactly where you are.” Screamed Robb to her. “How could you, Sansa?”

Sansa was quiet with her skirts still lifted high up and, when she answered, she didn’t look at her brother’s face. She stared at Theon, bloody over the floor.

“We are in love, Robb. Theon would have talked to you, later today, to ask for my hand. I’m sorry, Robb. But, what’s your problem?” She growled. “He’s your best friend, he’s a lord and he’s a very honored man. You don’t need to do that.”

“What’s happening in here?” Asked Lord Eddard by the entrance, still with his riding gloves on.

“Answer Father, Robb. Answer him how you almost killed the man I love.” Screamed Sansa, suddenly losing her well-crafted temper.

“He IS my best friend. He shouldn’t be trying to take my little sister’s virtue, the girl he once said was unbearable. The girl he used to mock in front of me… Did you know, Sansa? That he used to do that?” Robb yelled, pointing a finger to Theon, that slowly got up on the ground.

“I knew, of course I knew, Robb. I was a child, we were all children. I’ve grown during my days in Dorne and Theon became a man. We are in love, can’t you see?” 

Robb raised his eyebrows and walked towards his sister, eyes firing with rage.

“Love?” He asked. “You think you’re in love, but you’re not. What you’re feeling is something else, Sansa. Something that you could feel with anyone else, as Theon felt with half the servants in these halls.”

“That’s enough, Robb.” Said the Queen, finally approaching her husband, hands clasped over the belly, her chin held high, like Sansa taught her. “I will ask for Maester Luwin take care of your injuries and, then, we can talk, privately, with our family. Surely…”

“No!” Exclaimed Robb, walking away from Haelena. “No! I’m the King and I was insulted. He was taking advantage of Sansa, Haelena!”

“Robb, please…” The girl pledged, walking towards him, placing her hand gently over his arm. That movement made him look to her, eyes mixed with emotions, sadness, anger, loss and… loneliness. Was she the person responsible for breaking Robb’s soul?

“Lord Theon.” Said the King, looking back to the pity image of his best friend, blood dripping from his nose and mouth, an eye starting to swell. “You’re expelled from the North for offending the honor of my sister, the princess. You will leave now, with the clothes in your body and never come back.”

“You’ve lost your mind, Robb!” Screamed Sansa, running towards Theon. “He’s your friend! Why are you so mean? Why you keep breaking the hearts of everyone around you?”

Theon passed a hand protectively around Sansa’s shoulders, in an embrace. When Robb saw that, his hands went straight to the scabbard of his sword, pulling it form the hilt, in attack position.

“Will you go now or I will have to take your body from here?”

Sansa cried and Lady Catelyn let out a scream, as Haelena placed her body in front of the sword, looking straight in her husband’s eyes and saying:

“Theon, go now. Please.”

She heard the steps, slowly at first, unwilling to go on and then faster, the snow dust going up after Theon ran away from Winterfell, leaving his bride-to-be and his so famed courage. Sansa collapsed on the floor, as Lady Catelyn ran to her, Lord Eddard went to Robb’s side, placing a hand over the blade and pulling it from her husband’s hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Keep commenting!
> 
> Let's talk about this chapter, shall we?
> 
> Poor Tyrion! How he recovered from his days in the black cells? He must have lived horrible things... And now, Cersei is after blood and revenge from the Starks, that had nothing to do with Joffrey's death. What's Willas and Tywin plan to mitigate this mess? Is Jaime involved somehow?
> 
> Sansa and Theon! I loved writing this scene! I loved bold Sansa, trying to make him do what she wants! She became a sassy and powerful woman in Dorne, that knows exactly what she wants. Unfortunately, the timing and the place were not the best...
> 
> Poor Robb is facing difficulties. He's been in a dark place for many days and now, he's best friend betrayed him, almost staining his sister's honor... Was he right in losing his temper? What are the consequences for Theon's departure? What will Robb do with a heart-broken Sansa?
> 
> Please, excuse any english mistakes that I committed, as English is not my first language.
> 
> I will be posting a new chapter every friday! Yay!


	23. Of promises and confinements

“Robb, please.” Said Haelena in his study, hands clasped over her belly. “You have to listen to me.”

It has been a little more than a week since Theon’s departure.

“I’ve made my decision.” Said her husband, eyes turned to the window, hands clasped together behind his back.

“This is unfair.” Complained the Queen.

“Unfair?” He turned to her, raising his eyebrows. “Look what everyone in my own family did to me! Look the state of distress that Theon left Sansa in. What I’ve decided was not unfair. It was the right choice.”

“Theon has just left, Robb.” She walked towards him, in slow steps. “She is not ready to consider…”

“She doesn’t need to be ready.” Answered the King, crisping his lips. “I’ve answered for her.”

“It’s her life. It’s her choice.” The Queen whispered, feeling a strange thing near her thighs. “You could have, at least, talked to her, before sending that letter.”

“To what use?” Robb walked towards the chair, sitting with haste. “She would complain and cry, saying how I was unfair and mean. She doesn’t understand, Haelena.”

“Of course, she doesn’t understand. She is only a child that had her heart broken by the brother she adored.”

“So, you think I’m the villain?”

They stared at each other, in silence, as Haelena tried to dismiss the discomfort she felt between her legs.

“I just think you shouldn’t have placed her as the unwilling bride of a marriage contract built over a bribery.”

“It’s a good agreement for all of us. It shows that they trust us and wishes to tighten the relations of our Kingdoms.” Answered Robb, looking straight to his wife, standing over the fireplace, one hand over her continuously growing belly and other over the countertop. “You were once an unwilling bride as well. You are Queen, now. Nearly a mother.”

“How can you be such a fool, Robb?” She broke down. “Do you think our marriage worked out?”

“For a marriage to work out, we don’t need to be in love.” He said simply.

“We are not even happy. You don’t talk to me, you don’t even look at me!” She screamed, the pain growing between her thighs. “Look at me, Robb!”

“WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO SAY, HAELENA?” He screamed, punching the table. “I loved you and you didn’t love me back. You kept lying to me, over and over again. I couldn’t trust you. I couldn’t even look at you.”

He paused for a moment, watching his wife with her hands over her face.

“We got married because you saved my father’s life. But you destroyed mine.”

She was crying, quietly, without any sound. She took the hands of her face and whispered:

“How could you say that, Robb? I gave you everything. Everything. I tried to make you happy, I tried to be a good Queen… But the North is too small for both of us, as it seems. You couldn’t listen to me…”

“I listened to you, Haelena! I listened to you!” He exploded. “I listened to you when you sent away Bran without my knowledge. I listened to you when you said you would never allow our troops to help lord Stannis. I listened to you when you promised you would forgive and forget. I listened to you when you lied about Sansa’s whereabouts with Theon. I listened to you.”

He paused, catching his breath.

“I can’t just keep listening to you. We are King and Queen. The North is not only yours to decide about all that happened inside its frontiers.” He exhaled. “Being a sovereign is much more than seeing shadows in the flames.”

“I… I tried… I… Just can’t…”

Haelena felt the tears rolling down her face, as she let out a yelp, the pain growing inside of her, her hands going straight to the junction of her thighs, were a stain of blood started to appear over the grey silk. She took her fingers from the stain, staring at the smear of blood in the white digits and her heart skipped a beat. Watching, frozen on the other side of the room, Robb yelled for help, as he started to run away from the room, opening the door in panic.

My babe, she thought, falling on her knees, her hands guarding the bulge that was growing on her belly. She grasped it tight, forcing it to stay there, to not leave her, to not die inside of her. It was the only thing that was truly hers, the only memory she could share with Jon still. Suddenly, that feeling she was waiting, that incredible connection to the child she was waiting, kicked in. She loved it and she would not let it go without a fight.

Guards appeared through the door, taking the crying Queen in their arms, as the King ran through the halls, calling for Maester Luwin, pleading to save the life of his son and heir. The boy that was destined to be the next King of the North. The child that would be called Eddard, in honor of his father, that would be a skilled warrior and a just man. That would be happy and find love, the love that his own father once found and let it slip away through his fingers.

“My babe, Maester.” She whispered, laying very still in her canopy bed, tears dropping from her face and wetting the sheets under her. “It’s too soon.”

“I will do my best, Your Grace.” Said the old man, an anxious face staring at his Queen, his gentle eyes feeling the bloated stomach. “But he’s too young to survive by his own means…”

A loud cry came from her lips, echoing throughout the halls of Winterfell, as she prayed for the Lord of the Light to not take away her child.

— —

He was so small. His son.

Jaime watched him, standing very still in the sept, over a bench, so he could be the same height as his father.

His uncle, Jaime corrected himself. To all the Six Kingdoms, he was Tommen’s uncle. And he will ever be just that.

“Sir Jaime Lannister, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.” Said the young King. “Today, I relieve your duties as a sworn member of this institutions. You, now, are allowed to own lands, take a wife and father children, to continue your lineage and protect our realm.”

The boy, with his chubby little fingers, tried to unclasp the white cloak hanging from his uncle’s shoulders, but was unable. Gently, Jaime raised a hand and unclasped for him, carefully, allowing the boy to take the heavy fabric in his hands and pull away from his body, leaving him only with his armor, the lion shinning in his breastplate.

He gave a deep courtesy and waited, as the nobles started to leave the sept, the King jumping from his bench and running towards his mother, a figure in black, protected by her new husband, good and limp Willas.

Cersei has been furious.

But she couldn’t do a thing. There was still only one person in the whole wide world that still made Cersei tremble with fear: her own father, Tywin Lannister. After all, it was his idea, his plan. Cersei wasn’t happy about that, as Jaime wasn’t, but they didn’t have enough voice to scream at the old lion. Or enough courage to challenge him. Not like Tyrion did once, the same man that stayed in a catatonic state in a chamber near the sea, silent and quiet, watching the boats coming towards the harbor and leaving towards the unknown.

“Now, we have to make a few adjustments.” Said Lord Tywin by his side, walking comfortably, in a manner that showed he hadn’t one fear in the whole world.

“You know that Petyr is wrong.” Whispered Jaime. “You know this as I do.”

“That the Starks are not the ones to blame for Joffrey’s death? Well, yes.” Answered the old lion, nodding towards a couple near the door. “Robb Stark lacks the fiber to contract a killer and ask him to attack a king. This was clear as soon as he answered the letter.”

“So, why did you insist?” Jaime continued, feeling the feeble sun shine in his armor. “We already arrested the man, we could have already sent him to the gallows and give justice to my… nephew.”

“It’s very simple, Jaime.” He raised his hand towards an old man near a coach. “King Robb was maintaining a very neutral approach towards the affairs of our kingdom. If we had made alliances earlier, something that if Robert was clever enough would have arranged that, they would be by our side during Stannis attack. And we wouldn’t have lost so many men.”

“We could have suggested an alliance without threatening them.”

“We threatened nobody.” Tywin spoke, as they walked towards the Red Keep. “We only took a chance: Robb would have never considered an alliance without planting this insecurity in his brain. If he felt his kingdom could be a target for us, it would be easier to deliver a nice agreement between the two of us. These Starks are known for being stone cold and quite boring: they like the security of his lands and the protection of his bannermen. Without a little… well… help… they would be living as an island for the next few hundred years.”

“Cersei wasn’t very pleased with this plan.” Murmured Jaime, entering the fresh air of the great hall, the iron throne glistening under the tinted glass over it.

“Your sister is grieving.” Sighed Lord Tywin. “If she could, she was already marching towards the North, only because she still believes that the Northerner independency was a coup between Robert and Lord Eddard, just to spite her.”

They kept walking, as Tywin sighed again.

“Thanks Gods that she has now Willas to control her. Poor boy.”

They stopped by the side of the throne and Jaime’s father slowly touched one of the blades.

“Marriages like these occur all the time. They provide benefits for the both sides. We will have stability and they would have support when needed. Winter is coming and the Reach can provide food for the Northerners.” Tywin paused. “And Daenerys is coming as well. She returned to Mereen, followed by a Dothraki hoard and a giant beast.”

“Do you think she will sail to Westeros?” Asked Jaime, watching his father.

“She needs ships to do that. How she will find them, I don’t know. Maybe with the Mereenese money.” The old lion stared at his son. “She has a Dothraki army. And the Unsullied. Not to forget the dragons. Or so Varys says.”

“If you need the northerner alliance to protect Westeros from Daenerys Stormborn, any son of yours could’ve worked. You could’ve married her to Tyrion. After all, he was your heir until some minutes ago.”

Lord Tywin eyes got colder over Jaime and suddenly he remembered why he and his sister feared so much the old man.

“She is the princess in the north. She is the first in the line of succession to King Robb’s throne, while he and the queen don’t have a child. She is the door to the North and to reclaim our lands, when the time is right.”

“Varys said that the Queen is waiting for a child. Soon, she will be delivering in this world the heir of the throne and Lady Sansa would only be one in a long line of pups.” Said Jaime, pulling his armor away from his body, taking the breastplate in heist. It was extremely heavy, like the weight his father insisted in placing in his shoulders.

“Your problem, Jaime, is that you’re near sighted.” Complained his father, sliding one finger in a blade, blood dripping on the floor. “You’ve to open your mind to see the possibilities, the many future options that are available when you move one tiny piece, like a princess, in the board.”

Lord Tywin passed the fingers over his doublet, a trail of blood staining the gold fabric.

“You will be my heir and the husband of the northerner princess. Your children will have the right to claim the throne and will be in line for the succession. She will bring wealth to the North and you will bring me the lands that we lost for Robert.” He halted. “In some weeks, you will be taking her to your bed, where you will patiently wait for the birth of the king’s child.”

Jaime furrowed his brow.

“And you better pray for it to be weak.”

— —

“I fear we need to ask for help, Lord Snow.” Said the Maester next to him, as Jon watched the fireplace.

“I was avoiding that.” Answered the lord commander, furrowing his brows.

Since his return from Hardhome, he has been quietly preparing the castle defenses to them. The corpses that roamed the far North, in constant hunger and despair. They were much closer now, arriving in the coast, just some few hundred miles from Castle Black.

Patrols were roaming the region, going as far as they could, marking in maps the position of the white walkers that were seen. Every week came more men, holding maps in their hands, showing that they were coming, they were getting near, as the winter approached these lands as well.

Jon tried his best: the free folk was sent to the unoccupied castles in the Wall, woman and children sent to the south, where there were still some villages. Sam gathered the materials needed and every shred of dragon glass they could find was stocked in the icy cells, waiting for being melted and forged in weapons.

He sent letters, hundreds of letters, to every noble house in the region, requesting men to the Wall and weapon, if they could spare. He even asked for Valyrian swords, ancient weapon that were brought from Valyria so many centuries ago, before their Downfall and the Conquest.

Many agreed with the plead of the Lord Commander of the Night Watch and everyday men came, being trained and prepared, not only by the black crows but also by the free-folk, that have met the White Walkers many times before and knew how to fight them. 

But it didn’t matter, truly. The numbers of corpses being seen outside the Wall was increasing constantly, increasing to numbers that could not compete with the few watchers on the wall. 

And winter came.

The white raven arrived that same day, bearing news that winter has finally came to Westeros. With the snow and cold, they would come to, running towards the magic barrier, screaming with their hollow voices. And nothing that Jon did was enough to stop them.

They didn’t have enough weapons.

Or men.

Or defenses beyond the great Wall that rested in front of them.

They only had themselves, some wildlings and one or two giants.

“You want me to go to Winterfell and talk to King Robb.” Said the Lord Commander to the old Maester.

“I do.”

Jon scratched his beard and looked towards the old man, his eyes blue and lost in space. He feared that moment, the moment he would have to see her again, beautiful and smart, the round belly a symbol of what they could have been.

If he had the courage.

“I’ve sent King Robb a letter. I suspect it is enough.” Said Jon.

“It’s been nearly a moon since you sent it and he never answered it back to you…It’s strange that you faced those corpses in Hardhome without flinching but you do not dare to see her once more.” Said Aemon, crisping his lips.

“You will take me the title of Lord Commander for being a coward, Maester Aemon?” Jon asked.

“Every man is a coward, Jon Snow. Even your father.” The old Targaryen said. “What make us humans is the fear, after all. And what’s the greatest fear in the world, I ask you.”

“Love.” Jon answered in a low voice, gulping in reflex.

“I’ve warned you, my lord.”

“You did and I was stupid.” He answered back, anger filling his mouth. “I fell in love for someone I could never have. And I left her there.”

“She loved you too.” The maester said, plainly.

“I like to imagine she did. I like to imagine that she thinks of me all the time, even when Robb…” He stopped. “I even dream that her child is mine.”

The silence took over them, as Jon felt embarrassed for his last words. It was indeed a dream that he always has, a child in his arms, grey eyes watching him back, dark hair covering its head. It was like looking himself through a mirror. He could see the tiny hands and feet, raised in the air, giving little kicks. The warm skin against his digits and the smile, Haelena’s smile, shining through his fast-asleep mind.

But it was only a dream.

Only a dream.

“Go to Winterfell, Lord Snow.” Said Aemon. “Face your fears and save your people.”

“They are not mine.”

“They are.” Said the man. “Or have you not promised to protect the realms of men?”

Jon sighed, feeling tired of discussing with the old maester. It was useless. He would always win, that old goat.

“You did your duty once.” Continued the man. “You had the opportunity to leave with her, to live your life with the woman you loved. To live in a simpler way, with children and a land to harvest. But you chose your brothers. You chose the living.”

“I will go.” Said Jon. “And I will come back, with man and supplies. I promise you this.”

“Be brave, Jon Snow. And soon, you will have the world in your hands.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Keep commenting!
> 
> Let's talk about this chapter, shall we?
> 
> Robb and Haelena finally confront each other about their marriage, but the results are a bit alarming... Will she recover? Will the baby survive?
> 
> Jaime is relieve from his duties as the lord commander of the Kingsguard and, now, can be married, for the contentment of Lord Tywin. However, nor Jaime nor Cersei are pleased with the arrangement done by their father and the Northerner king. Will the marriage happen? Will Cersei allow them to take her lover away from her?
> 
> The White Walkers are coming and the winter has arrived. However, the pleas for help done by the Night's Watch are being dismissed. These are only folk tales, lore of the old days... In a desperate measure, Jon decides to regain courage and meet his former brother once again. And his former lover as well. Will Robb listen to the request? Will Jon make peace with his old self? Or will he arrive too late to mend things with his family?
> 
> Please, excuse any english mistakes that I committed, as English is not my first language.
> 
> I will be posting a new chapter every friday! Yay!


	24. Of endings and beginnings

For the whole night, the castle stood awake, waiting for the news of their Queen and her child. Sansa, that had locked herself in her chambers, avoiding all the members of her family, opened the doors for the first time, taking herself and a group of ladies in waiting to pray on the sept, where near all the household was guarding vigil.

Haelena could hear them chanting from her chambers, loud and clear, calling for the Seven to protect her and the babe, to intercede for her and care for their good and gentle Queen.

Others waited by the weirwood tree, Lord Eddard with them, in silent prayer to the old gods, calling for the entities that lived beyond the woods, to come and protect their rightful Queen and the heir to the throne.

Lady Catelyn stayed by Haelena side, tired and scared, her hands clasped in her lap, afraid to touch the sorrowful body of her good-daughter, knowing that she would burn her skin with this mere touch. Her only peace of mind was Lady Visenya, who took Haelena in her arms and comforted the girl, while they waited for the blood to stop, for the child to kick, to the Maester give them any news about what happened to the babe.

Robb stood in his chambers, eyes fixed outside the window, hearing the music coming from the sept, watching the flames glistening near the God’s Wood, waiting for news coming from the Queen’s chambers, the door in his arms reach. Too afraid to say he was sorry. Too afraid to say that he committed a huge mistake.

By the end of the day, the babe was still in her belly. 

It was alive and kicking, its movements waking her. But she was not bothered by it: this was the sign that it still lived inside of her. Every movement was a sign of victory. A sign that the Lord of Light listened to her in her despair.

However, due to the bleeding, the Maester decided it was better to her enter in confinement earlier than predicted. She was placed in the highest room in one of the oldest towers, far away from the other parts of the castle, where the first wall was erected.

Her windows were covered with dark tapestry, the fireplace was always lit and the air inside the chamber was heavy and somber. She would most of the time wear her nightgown, staying at bed, avoiding any movement that could bother the babe and make her bleed again.

Fresh straw was on the floor, waiting for the moment where she would give birth. The door was locked from the outside and only a small window allowed her to see the outside world, where the septon would chant with her, calling for the Mother, wishing a good birth and an easy time.

Lady Visenya stayed with her, knitting and talking pleasantries, waiting for the moment her granddaughter would start to show signs of the birth. It was strange, though Haelena, laying in her bed, hands over her belly, that have been growing continuously. Lady Visenya was not fitted to be a calm and gentle grandmother.

A knock came from the door and it opened suddenly, making the two Valyrian’s look to the person who entered the morbid room. With tears in her eyes, dressed in a bright blue dress, Sansa ran towards the bed, climbing the mattress and hugging her good-sister, as the air left her body in spasms. Haelena embraced her in shock, her lips murmuring soft things, trying to calm the girl. Standing in front of the door was Lady Catelyn, eyes red and lips crisped, looking as lost as was her daughter.

“What is happening, Lady Catelyn?” Asked Lady Visenya. “Something is wrong?”

“Lady Sansa will wait in confinement with Your Grace.”

“Oh!” Said Haelena, looking at the red head in her arms. “Hush now, darling. It’s not that bad, once you got used to it. We will stay for three moons here, more or less. It will pass quickly.”

She turned back to old Lady Stark, eyes worried and the eyebrows in a frown.

“I don’t understand, Lady Catelyn. If Sansa doesn’t want to stay with us, there’s no problem in it.” She gently touched the beautiful copper hair. “I’ve written to my sister to come…”

“It was the King’s command.” Answered Lady Catelyn in a whisper, eyes closed in despair. “She must stay here until it’s time.”

“Time for what, milady?”

But it was too late. The old lady walked out of the room, closing the door with a thud, leaving the two women startled. Sansa’s cries got louder and Haelena felt her heart breaking.

“Sansa, when you will leave?” Asked the Queen. “When Robb said you’re allowed to leave?”

She cleaned her tears and gulped the air, searching for freshness in her throat.

“For my marriage, Hel.” She seemed lost and alone. “He still wants to marry me with Jaime Lannister, even though your child almost died due to this nonsense.”

“Dear Lord, he is insane!” Whispered Lady Visenya. “We have to do something!”

“After you were placed in this tower, I confronted him. And he told me. Everything. He was hurt, Hel.” Said Sansa, the tears dripping once again from her cheeks. “He was scared and feared he had killed his child. But he was more hurt from what Theon did to him. From the betrayals he faced. He wouldn’t listen to father and mother thinks he is the best thing that happened to the North. I don’t know what to do, Hel. I can’t go to King’s Landing!”

“King’s Landing?” Whispered the Queen, eyes full of worries.

“Yes, why?” Said Sansa. “Tell me that you didn’t saw something bad happening, Hel!”

Haelena was pale as a ghost, eyes fixed in the blue irises of her good-sister. She licked her lips, trying to find the right words to say… but how could she explain to Sansa that it appeared that, after all, she changed nothing and the house Stark would face the doom as expected?

“I will protect you, Sansa. You and Robb. I’ve promised to your father and I keep my promises.”

— —

It was strange to be back, Daenerys thought.

After being rescued by the khalasar in the Dothraki Sea and taking Mereen back, she kept thinking how she was relieved that everything was back to what it was. In truth, this was not exactly how it happened: she had to deal with a riot, a husband that was plotting her own death and an army by her gates.

Now, with the rebels contained, her husband decapited and the army dissipated by three dragons and a khalasar hoard, she rested in her throne, floppy ears and all, watching the days go by, as she created roots in a land a that was not her own. 

She dreamed, every day, of her home. The red door and the lemon tree, the laughter of children and the warm sun over her skin. The rain drops in the earth and the smell of fish right after, coming from the bay. She would steal wild flowers and braid them in her little fingers, while pretending she was forging her own crown, the crown that one day she would wear as the princess from a faraway land, where her brother would be king.

Now, look at her: far away from the red door and the lemon tree, in a dry and sad land, where she barely learned the language and half of the population hated her. Her brother was dead and the crown rested in her head now. She had lost her people, her husband and her son. And she gained her people and children to call her own.

Violent delights and violent ends.

“Your Grace, there’s a man willing to speak to you.” Missandei murmured in her ear, as she still heard the complaints of a man that felt wronged after his brother entered in the riot against his queen.

“Well, he can wait in line, like all are waiting.” Daenerys dismissed her with the motion of her hand.

She loved Missandei, the small child that she broke the chains, smart and shy. In a world that turned its back to her so many times, she welcomed the presence of the little girl by her shoulder, telling her stories of her life in Naath, before she and her brothers were arrested. There was only her, now, and Ser Barristan.

Oh, how she missed Ser Jorah.

“Your Grace, he is insisting to see you at this instant.” Murmured again the young girl.

“He said what it was all about?” Asked the Queen, eyes still resting in the lonesome man, having his boring monologue.

“He said it’s something concerning a prince.”

Could it be…? No, it couldn’t.

Prince Quentyn, the poor boy, have arrived some weeks earlier, before she disappeared in the Dothraki Sea. A good boy, as it seemed, but with strange ideas regarding a marriage and the fact he was son of a dragon as well.

He had high hopes, as only the dreamers had. The dragons thought otherwise. Now, the boy rested in the ground, buried after being burned to the bone by Rhaegal and Viserion. The last thing she needed was an angry dornish prince demanding to see the son he sent to marry the westerosi queen.

“I’m sure that all can be settled as soon as he finishes his speech.” Whispered back the Queen.

“He is very insistent, my lady…”

But she wasn’t able to finish her sentence. The doors of the palace flew open and a man, with bright blue locks, entered. He was handsome and tall, not very strong, quite lean and flexible. He appeared to be pale under the bright blue hair, but his eyes showed his true self: a bright, deep blue, almost violet, as her own.

“Daenerys Stormborn.”

He said it like he knew her, like he was a very intimate friend, the mouth full with the letters, the name twirling in his tongue as he spoke it. A side smile was printed in his face and he had the posture for the king of the world.

“Or should I say… aunt?”

Her heart skipped a beat and she felt the air leaving her throat, without coming back. Her hands gripped the throne, searching for comfort or understanding, something that she hasn’t seen in a while. Something that only a family could provide.

A family.

Ser Barristan and Grey Worm were ready in a second and all the citizens waiting for their time with the floppy queen were leaving in a rush, feet stomping in the stone floor, fearing the rage that would fall in that cocky boy’s head in any minute now.

They stood in silence, staring at each other, unable to move or breath. Her mind kept going towards the red door, the lemon tree and Viserys, the only family she ever had. Her brother, her dear brother, with the bright silver hair and violet eyes. She remembered his smile, faintly. It was so difficult for him to smile, as he was always worried about where they would be staying or how they would get food.

He worried a lot, especially about the Iron Throne, the throne that should be his, after their older brother and his children were murdered by Robert Baratheon. She never knew them, as she was born after that day, in a stormy night at Dragonstone, seeking refuge from the troops coming towards them.

If she was born earlier, Viserys usually would say, she would have married Rhaegar. Good and kind Rhaegar. And their children would have been true Targaryens, not those half Dornish things. And Rhaegar wouldn’t have kidnapped the Stark girl and he would have inherited the throne, as expected.

None of their sorrows would have happened if she had been born earlier.

“Say your name.” She whispered, fearing that the words would never leave her mouth. “Say your name or my guards will take you into arrest.”

“You know my name.” He answered, raising one lonely eyebrow, blue as his hair.

“Say it.”

“It’s Aegon Targaryen, Your Grace. Your nephew and heir to the Seven Kingdoms.”

— —

“Princess Sansa!” a guard screamed against the door. “Are you ready to leave?”

The girl was trembling, tears dripping down her cheeks, in her new grey dress, the bright red hair falling down her back, straight like an arrow. The Queen was by her side, holding the girl in her arms, the baby bulge coming forward, demanding space, demanding to be seen.

“She is.” Said Haelena. “Open the door.”

The guard appeared in their view and, seeing the Queen in front of him, nearly dropped to his knees.

“I will escort the princess to the King.” She said, walking towards the man, her heart beating fast, waiting for the man forbid her, stop her. But he didn’t dare. He just motioned for the other guards to open the way and Haelena started to get out of her prison, holding tightly to Sansa in her arms.

The King was in the courtyard, already in his horse, watching as the guards placed several trucks in wagons. When he saw his wife, half of her body protecting Sansa from his view, he halted, his eyes burning over her.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“Robb. Please.” She said, in high voice, chin up and eyes focused in her husband, so handsome and powerful over his stallion, wearing the Stark armor and a fur cape.

“You have to rest.” He continued. “Maester Luwin asked for you to stay in confinement.”

“I will go back promptly, if you listen to me.” She tried, touching the belly for strength.

“We already discussed this, Haelena.” He said, motioned for the guards. “Please, escort Princess Sansa to her horse.”

“NO!” Haelena screamed, placing her body over her good sister, as a shield.

“Please, Haelena. You can’t go through this emotional distress.” He slowly got off the horse, walking towards her, the hands raised to calm her down.

“You can’t go, Robb.” She said, trying to maintain the voice stable. “If you don’t go to King’s Landing, I will go back to my chambers, until the birth.”

“You know very well that I can’t break the promise I made.” He placed a hand, gently over her arm. “You told me once what would happen if I did that.”

“I believe, Robb, that fate finds its way to maintain the course of action.” She whispered. “You’ve seen that no matter what I did, what I influenced, things remained the same. The Battle in Blackwater Bay, the death of King Joffrey and King Robert… I’m terribly afraid that this marriage will be cursed as well.”

He stared at her, Sansa trembling behind her, unable to speak.

“Remember when once we were discussing about Blackwater? And I asked you if we should interfere?” He whispered, placing a hand over her belly, smiling slightly. “You said no. You said that no matter what I did, you saw the ships on fire during the battle.”

“I remember.” Of course, she remembered. It was one of the last happy memories she had of her short-term marriage.

“You saw my death in the flames, Haelena?” He asked, eyes fixed in her. She couldn’t lie to him. Not anymore.

“It’s been months since I last saw something in the fire, Robb. I think… I think the Lord of Light abandoned me.”

He nodded, looking down to the belly, that moved, as if it knew that something alarming was happening.

“So, I believe I will take my chance.” He said. “If I do nothing, I will be accused of being a promise breaker and a kingslayer. If I go, I will be active aware that I tried to do something to change my fate.”

A gasp left Haelena’s lips and she placed her warm hands over his cold one’s.

“Think of your child, Robb.” She whispered. “Think of me.”

“Father will be here to take care of you and the child.” He answered, as it was obvious.

“And Sansa and Lady Catelyn?” She was starting to panic. “You will put them in danger just to show me that I was wrong?”

He smiled, a crooked smile that made him look like his old self, before the fights, betrayals and losses.

“I will protect them, Haelena.” He paused, taking one of his hands from her belly and placing over her cheek. “Yet, you still think the whole wide world exists because of you.”

“Robb, I…”

“No.” He said, short of breath. “If this is my last memory of you, I don’t want to recall a fight. Kiss your King, Haelena, and we will part our ways. For better or for worse.”

She closed her lids and let his mouth meet hers, in that cold embrace that she vaguely remembered. She tried to love him, once. She just managed to lust for his body and wreck his soul. He parted his lips from her, caressed her belly and waited for Sansa, that walked away from her good-sister as she was walking to the gallows.

They were starting to move when Haelena fell on the ground, her knees sinking in the mud and snow mixture.

“I’m begging you, Robb.” She said. “I’m on my knees, as a Queen begging for her King: don’t go. Stay.”

He merely closed his eyes, before turning around and leaving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Keep commenting!
> 
> Let's talk about this chapter, shall we?
> 
> Thankfully, Hel's baby is fine! However, Sansa must go to King's Landing and marry Jaime Lannister. Will this work?
> 
> Daenerys meets her family at last! She will be quite present in our story from now on! Hope you enjoyed her p.o.v, filled with melancholia and dreams.
> 
> Robb wants to build his own destiny and face his responsibilities as Queen. Will he truly listen to Haelena and be aware of the perils he might face in the capital?
> 
> Please, excuse any english mistakes that I committed, as English is not my first language.
> 
> I will be posting a new chapter every friday! Yay!


	25. Of betrayals and agreements

It seemed like they would never arrive in King’s Landing. Winter was coming, after all, and the snow storms were arriving as well, delaying their trip. Nearly one moon later, finally, they arrived at the city, huge and dirty, filled to the brim with beggars and thieves. The smell of sewage filled Sansa nostrils and she couldn’t avoid to think that for a city to smell like that, it had to be rulled by rats.

“Lady Sansa?”

She turned around and, by the door of her chamber, was Lord Tyrion. She remembered him from the royal visit to Winterfell, for what seemed like ages ago. He was a weird figure, with the malformed body and the color changing eyes. No, Sansa reprimanded herself. He could have a different body, but he had a gentle soul. That same visit, when Joffrey tried to touch her, in a way that he couldn’t touch a lady, Tyrion saw and slapped him, hard, across the face.

Now, he seemed older, tired and restless. His hair was darker than the Lannister gold and his eyes seemed lost in memories. He had a huge scar where once stood a nose and wrinkles appeared in the corners of his face.

“Lord Tyrion.” She tried to smile. “Always a pleasure.”

He smiled as well, a gesture that lacked affection or warmth.

“I imagine that in this particular case, my lady, you would rather choose to be in Winterfell than in the Red Keep, marrying a man that’s nearly twenty years your senior and a kingslayer.”

Sansa felt a little taken aback by his answer, but tried to dig a little deeper.

“I thought you were fond of your brother, Lord Tyrion.”

“I love Jaime.” He said, leaving the door and walking towards her. Even with the door opened, it was not proper for a man to be in her chambers. “But still, he is not the prince charming you once dreamt.”

She laughed and shook her head.

“I’ve seen enough to know that a prince charming doesn’t exist.”

“Truly, my lady?” He asked, sitting next to her.

“Why the sudden interest, Lord Tyrion?” She teased. “Are you spying on me?”

“Oh, Gods, no!” He exclaimed, raising his eyebrows. “I’m not a pawn of my father to spy on princesses.”

“So, all these questions are fruits of mere curiosity?” She cocked her head in demand.

“Why, yes.” He put mildly. “After spending some days at the black cells, we leave with a woke sense of curiosity. I’ve been reflecting a lot about things. And people.”

“And people.” She added, letting the silence take them, until Tyrion broke it.

“Let’s do this way: for each question you answer me, I will answer one of yours.”

“This is not a game, Lord Tyrion.” She said, raising one eyebrow.

“Life is a game, my lady.” He explained. “Now, why you believe there’s no such things as a prince charming?”

“I’ve seen the marriage of my good-sister and my brother, my lord. A man changes and when you see it, he shows his true facade.”

“Why the Queen is not here, Lady Sansa?” Tyrion asked, raising his head to her.

“No, no. It’s my turn now, my lord.” She paused, thinking. “Did you kill Joffrey?”

“No. Although, I believe that the man, or woman, that did that, made a good deed to the world.” He halted, scratching his beard. “Why the Queen is not here?”

“She is in confinement.” Sansa said, feeling the hairs of her arm prickling with cold. “Her baby is due to be born in any moment. The pregnancy… it’s not going well.”

“So, let’s pray for the baby and the mother. May the Stark’s remain well.”

She listened to those words, the silence taking them into an uncomfortable situation. Something in the way he pronounced the last words… It made Sansa think…

“How is the Queen Widower, lord Tyrion?” She whispered.

“She is shaken by the sudden death of her son. Not pleased with the marriage of her favorite brother and very upset by the constant presence of her own husband.” He answered, without delay. “Cersei has always been a… difficult person. However, I believe that pain and grief changed her. Not for better.”

She nodded, feeling the blood being drained from her cheeks. He approached her and she did not fear his presence, like once she did.

“Do you know that a man has been arrested for King Joffrey’s murder?” Tyrion asked, making her nod slightly.

“I heard one of the guards saying that he was caught in the brothels, telling everyone in range that he killed the King.” She paused. “They are sending him to the gallows, as a traitor of the crown.”

“He said he killed the King as a command of King Robb.”

She felt sick in her stomach, hearing the words repeating in her ears. That’s why Robb agreed to marry her? Was she caught in his machinations? Was he being bribed?

“Why you are telling me this, Lord Tyrion?” She asked in a whisper.

He thought for a long time before answering her back:

“Because I knew injustice and loneliness in the Black Cells, my lady. You’re young and kind. You don’t deserve to glance at the same path that I did walk once.”

— —

She had her hands locked with his, unable to breath properly. He was there, truly there and she felt whole, at last. He was handsome and kind, a breath of fresh air in the old sandy stone of Mereen. He would spend his days by her side, listening to the stories that Viserys told her and her memories of the red door and the lemon tree.

He had told his own story, on how he was raised like Lord Connington own son, sailing in the Shy Maid, searching for her. Their intention was to meet her in Volantis, expecting her to pass with her army by there, before taking back her seat in Westeros.

They changed their plans once they discovered about her escape in Drogon’s back, deciding to go to Mereen as soon as possible, waiting for her to get back. They only discovered she was back with a large Dothraki hoard once they entered the gates.

He couldn’t help himself, he said. He needed to see her, talk to her, as they were the only family left. They would take the Iron Throne together and rule together, he said. Like Aegon and Rhaenys.

“Are you proposing marriage, Aegon?” She whispered, short of breath.

“Yes, of course.” He answered. “It’s a great option.”

It was. It really was. It was basically a family tradition to marry sisters to brothers, nieces to uncles and nephew to aunts. For some, it was a monstrosity, but for them, it was quite normal. However, something wasn’t allowing her heart to agree with the proposal.

She didn’t know if it was the constant memory of Drogo, since she returned from the Dothraki Sea or the fact she has been constantly disappointed by the men she let in her life. She didn’t feel the urge to marry her nephew. Or to march towards Westeros and take back her throne.

“Say something, Dany.”

She had taught him that, her name, her true name, the name Viserys would call her when he was happy and relaxed. She had taught him many things and when her name rolled out of his tongue like honey, that first time, she rejoiced.

“You don’t want to marry me.” He said, taking his hand out of hers and pushing her chin forward, to see her eyes in his.

“I barely know you.” She answered, raising her eyebrows and smiling in an apologetic manner.

“Did you know Khal Drogo when you first married him?” He asked again, a wicked smile shining in his face.

“It was a different time. Viserys was alive and he arranged my marriage. I had nothing, Aegon. No lands, no army, no one. I only had my brother and if I refused… I would be left all alone.” She paused, eyes lost in memories. “We don’t need to be married to rule together.”

His warm hand cupped her cheeks and he pushed her head towards him, eyes shining in violet hues like hers.

“How, Dany? Marrying each other, we would join our allies towards a same goal. We would gather armies, we would attack together and defend together.” He explained.

“If we do not marry, we would gather the same benefits. We are family, Aegon. It’s enough.” She tried to take her head of his hands but he grasped it harder.

“No, it’s not enough. We may be family, but I’m your nephew. The son of the heir to the throne, Rhaegar. I am the King, Daenerys. Not you.”

She watched him, with eyes wide. She had awakened the dragon once again, after so many years and she feared for herself, like she feared once in front of the red door, while Viserys took her tiny body in his hands, enraged by something silly she did.

No, she wasn’t a child anymore. She had grown with her loses and become fearless by her own merit. Aegon might be the rightful heir, but it was Dany who had dragons. Unsullied. Dothrakis. Aegon had some armies hired to fight for him. 

However, as soon as the gold drained out, the armies would flee the battlefield.

“You say that you’re the King but it was I who conquered the slave cities. I am the one the slaves call mother. I am Daenerys Stormborn and the armies fear me and my dragons. My children.” She looked in his violet eyes. “How dare you say I’m not the Queen.”

He smiled charmingly.

“You’re the Queen, Dany. The people love you and they would follow you wherever you went. But without me, you would never leave Mereen and reclaim your lands. I’m the rightful King, the one being supported by Dorne and the Iron Bank. But you…” He paused, taking, again, her hands in his. “You are the true Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Six. They are six now. The North is independent.”

He laughed, a clear and joyful sound that made her happy and whole. She forgot the anger growing in her chest and the urge to make her sons go after that Targaryen fool. Once he donned her with one of his smiles, she felt safe again.

“What is one kingdom more for someone that’s conquering already six?”

She smiled as well, urged by the bubbly feeling inside her.

“Say you will marry me. We are the last Targaryens in this world. It’s not right to have us apart, fighting in two different sides of a war. Let us be married, marrying our power, our armies, our allies and our names. Let give Westeros fire and blood. Targaryens for generations more.”

She halted, the memory trying to escape her tongue. She would always dream of that witch, that witch that killed Drogo. She had said to her when he would wake up from his dreams. The same day that her womb would quicken again. But Drogo never woke up and now, he was only dust in the wind.

And her womb would never have a baby inside. Not anymore.

It was logical, it was clear. He sincerely wanted her company and their marriage would benefit both parties. They would not be mere spouses, they would be rightfully King and Queen. They would be together, at last, family and friends, sharing memories he didn’t have, images fixed in Daenerys eyes, of days past and gone.

She smiled at him and nodded, making Aegon smile back.

— —

“What do you see, Bran?” Whispered Arya near him, his eyes lost in the horizon, his hands pressed together with the old crone branches, now that he and the old weirwood tree were becoming one.

He was in a city. Large and noisy, its citizens coming and going, screaming with each other, selling fish and crabs on the street. He could see the sea, blue and wide, sparkling under the city walls. Far away, a castle, its red stones a warning and a reminder: the Red Keep. He was in King’s Landing.

He followed the Three Eyed Raven, his steps echoing on the streets, as a loud sound, deep and innerving came from the gates. The roar of men, enraged men, thirsty for blood. He stopped, suddenly, feeling unable to move, like he always felt in real life, away from his dreams. He saw the army pass by, killing the few guards still around the castle, its black and red cloaks warning about their lord and master: a Targaryen.

He watched a huge man, eyes cold and cruel, pass by him, in a gold and red armor, his huge fingers, that appeared to be sausages, taking a child from his mother’s arms, as she ran away in complete horror, smashing its head with his knuckles. 

The scene changed and he was with half his legs covered in water, a glistening river shining under him. The crone by his side said nothing and just walked to a rock in the edge of the river.

Or so he thought it was a rock.

As they walked, the waters were getting less translucent, a live and bright red following the river, leaving the great rock resting still by the bank. It was a man, actually, bright blond hair, so blond it was almost white, shining underwater, sapphires leaving his armor, being taken as a gift for the water nymphs. 

And he wasn’t there anymore. He was in a tower, dusty and forgotten, the sound of a baby crying in his ears, the figure of a broken woman in a bed. She had a baby in her arms and was trying to give it to the man sitting by her side.

“Please, Ned. Save him.” She whispered and Bran’s heart skipped a beat.

“Lyanna… I can’t. You know what that will mean.” He answered in his too familiar voice and before Bran could say anything, he wasn’t there anymore.

He was in another tower, now clean and warm, furs and straw around it. An old lady was taking a nap near the fire and a woman was laying in the bed, like the other one… Lyanna… His aunt. However, she didn’t have a child in her arms, but a round and firm pregnant belly, towering her in her sleep. She opened her eyes and looked straight at him, as she could almost see him in her burgundy lenses. She opened a smile in her face, welcoming him to stay, but he moved again.

“What was that?” He whispered, back at the cave, his body useless once more.

“The past events, my boy.” Said the old man, the hybrid version of a human and a plant. “You saw Lord Tywin’s troops invading King’s Landing. You saw the dead body of fair Rhaegar Targaryen after losing for Robert Baratheon and you saw what he left behind, in a dusty tower.”

“A child.” He murmured. “But what this child has to do with the Queen? I’ve seen her, in the same position as aunt Lyanna, a babe in her belly…”

He paused, watching Arya nearby. His father always said to them, how Arya resembled his aunt Lyanna. The same hair color and the same dark grey eyes, a constant reminder for his father of the sister he has lost. The other siblings had the Tully coloring, Robb with his dark auburn hair and Sansa with the deep coper tone, blue eyes shining in the Northern sky. Bran and Rickon also had the hair more reddish, although his eyes were darker and not so blue as their other siblings.

Only Arya looked like father.

And Jon.

“He is the heir.” Bran whispered to the Three Eyed Raven, watching as the old creature gave a small nod in return.

His heart was beating fast in his chest, the sudden notion that all his family was living a lie in his mind. Jon was the heir to the throne, a true Targaryen, lost in the confines of the earth, buried deep in the snow. He placed his hand again in the trunk, feeling its nodes against the soft skin of his fingers, trying to grasp images of Jon, like he last saw him: somber and dark, eyes lost in the space while the Valyrian princess was being married to Robb.

Now, he was in deep snow, the Wall far behind him in the horizon. He didn’t feel the cold or the loneliness. He could only see the corpses getting near him, eyes empty in the skulls, waiting for something. Far behind, there was a man, skin as blue as the winter skin over them, long purple nails and eyes white as a blind man. He was different from the others, half beings, stuck between life or death.

He was death himself.

His empty eyes turned to Bran and he listened to the Three Eyes Raven whispering next to his ear:

“We need to leave, my boy.”

His heart was beating fast and something was calling him to that blue figure, mounting the corpse of a horse. He felt an urge to lay his hands in the man and see what his past could tell him.

“Now, Bran.” Insisted the old crone, but Bran kept still, as the horse started to move towards him.

He was so close, now. Bran could almost reach him with an arm. Was he cold like ice under his digits?

“Jon Snow is not here. Only death lay behind the Wall now.” Claimed the old man, grabbing Bran’s arms, as the White Walker approached the boy with a gelid hand, long nails pale and blue towards his face, one finger pointing at his childish face in accusation.

Before the long fingernail reached the soft skin of his cheeks, they were already gone and safe inside their cave, the old Raven watching him with worried eyes.

“I fear I have to speed your education a bit, young Bran.”


	26. Of encounters and departures

“Cersei…” Whispered Jaime next to the black figure, placing a hand in the small of her back. She didn’t turn, as she knew already who he was.

“Leave.” She said, the face covered by the heavy black lace, a mourning shield for a mourning mother.

“We need to talk.” He insisted, pushing her shoulder towards him.

She remained very still, avoiding his gaze.

“There is nothing to talk. Our father already decided everything for us.” She whispered and Jaime could feel the words leaving her mouth like poison.

He insisted in his push, turning her to him, staring at that hunted version of the woman he once loved, covered in a dark and somber fabric, barely able to see the golden lock that she still donned in waves under the veil.

“You are not being fair.” He whispered, furrowing his brows. He understood Cersei anger, as he felt the same way when she married. It was stronger when Tywin announced she was betrothed to Robert Baratheon. He urged them to flee and live in Braavos as a married couple. However, she was enamored by the prospect of being a Queen, the same prospect she once dreamed of, waiting for Prince Rhaegar.

When he discovered she was to be married with gentle Willas, he also felt the poison in his mouth, a sour taste that he almost had forgotten. However, nearly 18 years had passed since that day, in Casterly Rock. She has been married for most of her life and they enjoyed their company, without much complications.

Sure, his children were raised as the King’s. And he had to make a vow to never have a wife to satisfy his jealous and passionate sister.

“Fair? I don’t need to be fair.” She said, angry tears leaving her eyes. “The world is not fair, so why should I.”

“We will remain together, as we always been.” He placed a gentle hand over the lace veil, pushing it away of her face, out of breath as he saw those beautiful green eyes staring back at him.

“It will be different.” She whispered. “You will be hers. That little wolf bitch from the North.”

“Lady Sansa is a very nice girl. Don’t call her like that.” He asked.

Her eyes shone with anger, sparks flying from her irises.

“Lady Sansa is stealing you from me! Her father stole the North from my moribund husband’s hands! Her brother killed my child! I have every right to call her bitch.” Said Cersei, pushing Jaime out of her way.

“You should stop listening to Littlefinger.” Jaime tried to plead for her senses. “How can you believe that righteous Robb Stark would kill a young boy? A man near his own age? Son of his father best friend? They are poisoning your mind, Cersei. They are poisoning this Keep, haven’t you notice?”

“Listen to yourself! Defending those who betrayed us, that were far away when hell broke loose over our heads. Where was Ned Stark’s son when Stannis almost invaded my castle? Where was him when my boy chocked to death?” She walked towards Jaime, the heavy skirts swooshing on the floor. “Can’t you see the truth in front of your own eyes?”

“Cersei… You can’t blame every problem on the world in Robb Stark.” Jaime tried to say, calmly. “When Robert gave the North freedom, he didn’t manage to make any alliances with the new Kingdom. This was a mistake, obviously, but I would have done the same thing as Robb. It was not his war to enter. He had a new bride and enough problems with Winter arriving and the wildlings at the Wall. And Joffrey… The Queen was pregnant. It wouldn’t be good for the baby…”

“Stop!” She screamed. “I can’t hear you say another word.”

They stared at each other, short of breath.

“You have stopped loving me.” She whispered, finally.

“No. No. Cersei, please.” He walked towards her, placing a gentle hand over her cheek. “I love you. I will always love you. But darling, you have to lift the veil of sorrow. You have to let this anger behind. It’s consuming you.”

“We buried Jof only three moons ago.” She gasped.

“You have other children, Cersei. You have Tommen and Myrcella now. They are still children, they need a mother. Not a ghoul.” He traced her lips, pink and soft from her tears.

She furrowed her brow, eyes turning towards him.

“You don’t understand. You will never understand. You don’t love me anymore. You don’t love our children.” Her voice was filled with disappointment. “If you did, you would believe me. You would fight for me. For our children’s lands. For our honor. For my freedom.”

“You’re losing your mind.” It was the only thing that Jaime was able to say.

“No, Jaime. My mind has never been clearer.” She paused. “I’m sick and tired of watching my life being controlled by the others. I will take charge of it from now on.”

His hands were moist as she said that, giving small steps towards the window.

“Cersei.” He called. “Talk to me. What do you mean?”

She didn’t answer, her eyes fixed on the sept outside the Keep, a small smile appearing in the corner of her mouth. He walked towards her, placing a hand in her shoulder one last time.

“Cersei.”

But his time was over. She had given him her last words.

— —

Haelena was laying very still in her bed, curved over her belly, feeling it move under her digits. It was almost time now, for the baby to be born.

Of course, the Maester didn’t know that. He still believed that the baby was a seed planted in her belly while in her first night with Robb and not many days before that, perhaps under the stars, after Jon rubbed her with oils.

More two moons, said the old man. But her belly was lowering, the little thing inside her preparing to take the first breath of the world.

She missed Jon. Now, alone with her thoughts, only with the constant visits of her good-father and lady Visenya, her mind was always turned to the father of her baby. She would spend hours every night trying to find him near the wall, to rub her growing stomach in his skin and murmur to him that the babe was his.

But she could see nothing in the flames and her dreams were surrounded in darkness.

She missed Robb. Old Robb, the boy that loved her with so much joy that she started to care for him to. Until she destroyed everything and he left her alone, walking towards doom. A doom she could not be sure would happen, being relegated to pray, each day, to his and his family safety in the southern lands.

She felt a low pain in her groin and changed positions. This made Lady Visenya raise her head from where she was knitting, by the fire.

“Are you well, darling?” She asked, in a worried voice.

“I am fine, Nana.” She whispered, gently touching the belly that was very still. Since yesterday the baby didn’t moved in its regular fashion, poking and probing inside her. It was waiting for something and Haelena was afraid she knew exactly what it was waiting for. “Just a small pain, but it will pass.”

Her grandmother got up and walked towards the girl, placing a gentle and warm hand over her forehead, in a sign of endearment.

“Your body is getting ready to the birth, my dear. I believe that soon or later, you will have a small child in your arms.” She furrowed her brow. “The weather will make things riskier… I may warn Maester Luwin beforehand.”

There’s been a snow storm for days, now. An icy hand over the castle, making everything white and terrible around them. It seemed like they were engulfed in constant darkness and, considering that their King was far away, it didn’t feel like a good omen.

“Lord Eddard told me that the children born in the winter are stronger than the others. My child will be a brave knight, someday.” She whispered, changing positions again, as the pain reappeared in her lower belly.

“It might be a girl, as well. Like me. I was a Queen and a warrior, don’t forget, dear.” Her grandmother said, walking towards the windows and lifting the tapestry that closed them to the outside world. “So much snow… We will have to do with the maids in the castle when you start your labor. No one will be able to enter those ground with this storm…”

Haelena adjusted herself in the pillows, feeling too restless to stay quiet. Her belly was heavy with child and her lower belly has a constant and very sharp pain going own, even though still a bit faint.

“Help me, Nana. I want to walk.” She asked, raising from the bed with difficulty.

“Haelena, you have to stay quiet… The baby…” Her grandmother insisted, but she was already placing her slippers in her feet.

“My shawl…”

The old lady placed the warm fabric over her shoulders and took her hand in hers. She wiggled slightly, now that her ankles were swollen under her legs. Even though it was uncomfortable to walk in her state, it was better than laying down very still. She almost could forget the small pain in her insides, as she pushed herself down the tower, small step followed by a smaller step.

The halls were empty and she couldn’t hear the constant hum of servants up and down the stairs. She could only hear the very strong wind against the warms stone walls, creeping through cracks and slots.

“Dear, I think you better wait by the great hall, while I fetch Maester Luwin. You should go back to your room…” Lady Visenya said quietly, massaging her granddaughter’s neck, worried as she saw the moisture coming from her scalp. “You are sweating with the effort.”

“I am fine, Nana.” She insisted, pausing or a while, as she used the stone to keep her upright. “It’s better to walk, really.”

She insisted, one step after the other, until they arrived in the great hall, the fire roaring in the two big fireplaces. She could see the snow entering through the chimneys, trying to claim the castle as its own, conquering all humanity built and destroyed in one single night.

“Now, dear, wait here.” Said Lady Visenya, her hands gently rubbing her granddaughter’s back. “I will fetch Lord Eddard and Maester Luwin. Nearly two moons earlier than expected… We have to help this baby in every way we can.”

“I am scared, Nana.” Gulped the Queen, hands clasped over the bulge in her belly. “What will be of me? Of us?”

“Oh dear, everything will turn out fine. He is a little earlier, that’s true… But you will be fine. I delivered five healthy babes and so will you. By tomorrow noon you will have a tiny bundle of joy in your arms…” Said the old lady, planting a soft kiss over the Queen’s head and walking away.

Haelena felt the despair entering in her heart, the sharp pain appearing once again in her lower belly. She thought she could hide who was the true father of her son, but she was mistaken. The baby wanted to be born earlier than predicted… But just a little less than a moon. It was conceived before her marriage and, for that, would be born stronger and louder than expected.

Her secret would be screaming in everyone’s faces in some hours.

A sharp pain made her seek support from the wooden table in front of her, her knees growing weak. She wished Jon was with her. To hold his baby and give it a name. To comfort when her time came and kiss her with joy. She wished he would never leave again. She wished she had the strength to cancel her wedding with Robb and be with Jon, that day, by the sept… She wished…

Snowflakes entered the castle suddenly, the cold wind blowing on her skin, her nightgown embracing her shivering body, as she tried to protect the belly with her shawl. Looking up to the door, a figure in black stood very still, a hand holding the hilt of his sword.

— —

He has been delayed by the snow for many days, especially now, that Maester Aemon asked to be taken back to the citadel and retire from his duties. Sam would fill for him while they waited for the new maester Jon asked, what would probably take a long time. Edd was his second in command and was still teaching the new recruits basic movements and defenses against enemies: he decided to stay as well.

Only Tormund came with them, his flashy red beard appearing under the many layers of fur. For someone that came from the deep north, he would spend many hours just complaining about the weather. Every little thing was either too cold or too moist for him, the fire too difficult to light, the snow too hard under him when they could find shelter to sleep.

Jon was worried they were lost. The storm began in the middle of the journey and took them of the tracks. Not an inch could be seen in front of them, only terrible and bright white. Their food was finishing and he was growing worried about Maester Aemon, so quiet over his horse. The man was one hundred years old. He couldn’t simply die.

Not now.

“Crow!” Exclaimed Tormund that day, pointing to somewhere far ahead of them, something between the snowflakes falling around them. “Can you see that?”

Deep and buried in the snow, Jon could see the faint grey of stone and the flicker of a flag. A grey flag, as well. His heart filled with joy, as he realized they were in the right track, after all. They were near Winterfell, at last.

They prompted the horses forward, battling the knee-deep snow over the ground, waiting to see the gates in front of them. They would be closed, but he would scream. He would scream until someone listened to him. Until he felt warm, once again.

The gates were open, as a matter of fact. The guards were helping a cart with a broken wheel enter the castle, a herd of goats waiting impatiently in the cold. They barely noticed the small party entering the castle premises, giving just a glance to the dark figure approaching and turning their attention back to the cart.

In the courtyard, not a soul could be seen. Not only because it was empty, from horses and people, but also because of the heavy snow falling over them, making everything look blurry and grey. Jon would kill for a nice and warm fire.

Or a warm body.

“Take the horses, Tormund. I will get Maester Aemon inside.” He screamed over the storm. “The weather will only get worse from now on.”

The wildling nodded in agreement and helped the old dragon to get out of his bay horse, gently placing him in the ground, before taking the reins of the animals and walking, slowly, towards the barns nearby. Maybe, Tormund would get lucky and find the milkmaids preparing to sleep over the straw. Maybe he could get the edge of in a way Jon knew he wouldn’t be able today.

Or ever.

He pulled the door open, waiting for the warm embrace of the fire, searching with his eyes a servant to help them to settle, to announce his presence to the King. He wanted this to be a quick affair, so he could go back to his men, with good or bad news.

However, what he saw in front of him was a Queen in her nightgown, hands pressed against the wooden table, eyes large with fright, lips pale and dry. Over the pale and thin fabric she wore over her body, fabric which once he took away from her with his teeth, laid a heavy woolen shawl, that was not enough to take his gaze from the huge bulge where once stood a very firm and plain belly.

His first instinct was to get her in his arms, hold her tight, kiss her lips and cheeks, smell her hair and skin. He even took a step forward her, his arms reaching for the body he once had over his. But now, she was the wife of another man, the mother of a child that was not his.

However, life can’t erase memories. She gave the same step forward, one hand stretching away from the table in his direction. Soon, however, she stood very still and grimaced, the same hand that searched for his touch, searching for the warm reassurance of her belly, touching it gingerly and carefully. Her brows were furrowed and he could see small drippings of sweat in her forehead.

Something was not right.

“Haelena?” He asked, softly, taking the attention of Maester Aemon instantly. They were family, after all, even though they were not very closely related, the old dragon and the fair Queen shared the same Valyrian blood.

“Oh!” She exclaimed, faintly, a single tear dripping down her face. “You came. I knew you would come.”

Her voice was shaking and she chocked with her last words, as she struggled to keep straight, even with the assistance of the old wooden table.

“Something is wrong, Lord Snow? For her voice, I dare say the Queen doesn’t seem very well.”

Indeed, she didn’t seem. Her knuckles were white over the table and her belly was very low in her abdomen. She moved her head slightly, shutting her eyes back, as she felt… something…

Could she be…?

“The baby wants to be in this world, I am afraid.” She whispered.

It was too soon. The moons since the marriage… It was barely enough for the baby to be born alive. He has seen, many times, the wildlings delivering babes too soon, their little bodies the size of his hand, some still translucent, their tiny veins shining under the fireplace light.

He saw her knees weaken under her weight and he walked towards her, arms reaching for her small body, earning to give comfort and to receive comfort, as once he received. She, slowly, raised her head to look him straight in the eyes, maroon eyes looking worried and terrified of what was happening to her.

And she felt again, a pain of some sort, that made her place her head in his shoulder, like they were in a tight embrace and Jon couldn’t stop thinking on how wrong, and at the same time, very right, the feeling of having her, once again, in his arms, was.

“Don’t leave me again, Jon.” She whispered in his ear. “I can’t bear it one more time.”


	28. Of mothers and cravens

The room was boiling hot.

Haelena could feel her sweat dripping from the back of her neck, slowly slipping through her back, making her nightgown moist and heavy. She kicked the sheets away from her feverish body, as another jolt of pain pushed its way through her her, making her curve herself over her stomach, closing her eyes and grinding her teeth.

“There, there, sweetheart…” Whispered her grandmother, by the side of her bed, placing a damp and cold towel over her forehead. “You’re doing great…”

She didn’t wish to do great. She wished she could do it faster.

Jon had taken her in his arms, warm and strong, as she remembered, practically running upwards and placing her gently in her bed, as an army of disheveled maids followed, putting kettles on the fire, with sheets in their arms, fresh straw being placed on the floor.

A scissor was placed underneath her pillow, with herbs tied together and the septon, poor fella, was woken up to pray by her side, in her bed, while her legs were spread apart and gloved fingers probed inside her.

She asked for them to stop, to leave her be. She didn’t want the baby to arrive like that, with the boresome voice of a young and scared septon in his ears, fingers poking in his fresh and delicate skin, screaming to the world to be delivered to his wet nurse, that was already waiting her summoning by a corner in the Queen’s room.

No one paid attention to her.

But they listened to Jon.

Watching her words being lost by the commotion of people, tears rolling down her cheeks, as the pains grew worse and more frequent, he made the decision of controlling what was happening in that room. The septon was rudely shoved away with his prayers, together with the wet nurse. Maester Aemon was placed in charge and his kind ways and easy laugh made the Queen less nervous and more willing to fight this battle for her child.

Maester Luwin, a gentleman as ever, was placed as an assistant for Maester Aemon and walked among the maids with purpose, being careful about the products using to tend the Queen and the child that was arriving. Only two maids were left with them, two discreet and shy girls, that spoke with soft voices and had a calm demeanor.

However, after giving his orders, Jon gave a stiff bow in return and went away, refuging himself in somewhere among the walls of the castle, while she had to bear the burden of delivering his child to the world.

“I can’t…” She whispered to no one in particular, as another jolt of pain went downwards her spine.

Her soft whisper was heard by the blind Maester, bloody hands by her side in the sheets, bright blue eyes staring aimlessly at her side. He had a kind smile in his face and looked extremely tired.

“You can, child. You’re almost there.” He said, patting her knee with tenderness. “I almost can see its head.”

“His head, ser. It’s a boy.” She said, without thinking. She wasn’t sure it was a boy and the only person that referred to her baby as a future prince was Robb, that was not the babe’s true father. How could she be so certain?

“You can deliver your prince, Your Grace. I know it’s tiresome and you have been for hours in this room. But you will deliver him.” He answered to her plead. “Do you want to walk in the room?”

After the room was quiet with trustworthy servants, she walked laboriously around the room, with her grandmother by her side. Every step she took was a blessing to forget the pain. However, as time moved forward and the pain grew thicker, her steps started to be more uncertain, until she wasn’t able to move anymore.

Another jolt of pain made her go forward and grab poor Maester Aemon’s hand in hers. She was afraid, for half a second, she broke his tiny and callous hand, but not a sound came from his mouth, as the pain grew fainter and he placed her back in the pillows, gently.

“You can scream, if you want.” He said. She had avoided screaming like she wanted to, to put in words the feeling of having her guts cut in half inside of her. However, she didn’t want to scare anyone who may be waiting for her outside her chamber door.

“I need him.” She was able to cry, although unable to say out loud who she wanted.

While walking around the room, she had heard the maids talking among themselves, about Lord Snow. He had come from the Wall to talk with King Robb, privately. Now, knowing that the King was delivering their sister to Jaime Lannister in King’s Landing, he was willing to go south and meet the King there. It was a good opportunity to deliver old Maester Aemon to the Citadel, as was his wish.

Those words were stained in Haelena’s brain, as her baby tried to feel the cold night hair in its face for the first time. Laying on her bed, bloody sheets around her, her nightgown moist with sweat and tears, she feared that, by the time Jon’s babe come to this world, his father would already be too far away to know the truth. To take care of him, when she would no longer be there to take.

Because she was certain she was going to die on that day.

“Who do you want, Your Grace?” Maester Aemon whispered near her, pretending he was arranging her head on the pillow, while her mother and Maester Luwin were damping sheets in hot water. “Lord Snow?”

She feared saying it. His name. It was a silly feeling, considering that he would see her child in some hours and know the truth. All of them would and she would be kicked out of the Kingdom, childless and homeless. Maybe she would face the block, for betraying her King. However, this was a fear for later. Right now, she needed him.

“Yes.”

— —

They were late, thought Tyrion, looking at the King and the princess, coming slowly through the filthy streets of the city. Not only they were late, but his dearest sister was nowhere to be seen, locked away with the child King, fighting with Jaime one less time, before losing him to a much younger and prettier princess.

His father was already seated next to Lady Catelyn, having a nice small talk as they waited for the party to arrive. Willas was by their side, eyes lost somewhere, looking incredibly lonely, as a matter of fact. Little Margeary was not attending the nuptials, as she was still in mourning for King Joffrey.

There was something very wrong.

Tyrion noticed his father calling him with one lonely finger, very discreetly, and he rushed to meet the old man. He clearly was upset about something and, if Tyrion could bet, he would say that it was due to the delay of the bride and the groom. Especially of the groom.

“Where is your brother and that damned girl? The celebration should have started by now and you know how long those chants take.” Tywin complained in a low voice, as Lady Catelyn turned to her side, having small chat with Lord Willas.

“I do not know, father. You should be worried about my sister, as well. Why don’t you ask where she is?” Tyrion teased, annoyed by her his father’s questions.

“Because I do know where she is, Tyrion. She was feeling unwell and asked to stay at the Keep. She will meet us at the reception.” He answered, smiling towards someone that went nearby to say his greetings.

“And Tommen? Isn’t he feeling well? Or Cersei is preventing all her household to attend the celebration as a weird form of strike against her brother’s marriage?” The dwarf joked, scratching his vest in annoyance.

“Don’t be daft. She said he would escort his uncle to the marriage. Why don’t you go and try to find them?” Suggested his father, looking bored to death.

“In the middle of the streets? Father, are you aware that your son, considered one of the bravest knights of the Kingdom, is getting married to one of the fairest princesses on the land? Do you know how many people are on the streets just to get a glimpse of them?” It was complete insane to go on the streets, as Tyrion knew. It was filled to the brim with fishmen, blacksmiths, bakers, carpenters, candlemakers, farmers, ministrels and even rat catchers. He would never find them outside.

“No! Certainly, they are already here. Your brother is never late. I’ve asked him to wait wikth Tommen for the celebration downstairs, near the catacombs. Go there and ask him to go up and meet his bride. I believe she is near.” Tywin said as it was obvious, dismissing his ugly son with a motion of his hand. This made Tyrion’s blood boil inside his veins, but what could he do? His father was Tywin Lannister. He was not used to people getting angry with the awful things he would speak out loud.

For that reason, Tyrion only nodded, briefly, and walked towards the stairs that led to the Catacombs. There were buried the bodies of the formers Kings, from Baelor, the blessed, to poor, young Joffrey.

He should have had a slower death.

The place was dark as a pitch, the faint lights near each grave just enough to show that the first chamber was empty. Tyrion thought about going up again: his brother wasn’t there and, surely, he would not be roaming around the Catacombs, looking at the last places of rest of former Kings and Queens.

Jaime hated history, especially any involving Targaryens.

_Maybe that’s why it was so easy for him to kill old, crazy Aerys._

He decided to keep going inside the room, going deeper in the mausoleum, the herbal air filling his nostrils, coming from Joffrey’s bier. It was stale and warm, hard to breath, like he was being suffocated by the ghost of Targaryens. Dear God, he had to find Jaime fast.

He could hear water dripping from the ceiling, creating stalagmites and stalagtites, as he entered the old tombs. They were centuries old, right now, with statues of Queens and Kings laying on top of the lids, noses and rough features forgotten by the time, as the humidity consumed the stone.

Tyrion was very familiar with the Catacombs. When he was nothing more than a child and his father was Hand of the King, he would roam around those rooms, where no one knew him, no one would mock him or talk ill of him. He was safe near the dead corpses and the skeletons of dragons underneath the Keep. It was his little secret.

His piece of heaven.

The last room was pitch black. Not one torch was lit in the room, giving a weird feeling to the chamber. Usually, Baelor’s tomb was the most beautiful and bright, being in the center of the sept and visited by smallfolk asking for blessings. But, right now, it rested quiet and dark.

Tyrion walked towards a tomb by his side, climbing the sleeping statue with care and taking its torch. He walked carefully towards the entrance of the room, calling for his brother in a low voice. Why he was insisting? He should go back as soon as possible. Jaime, certainly, wasn’t there.

But his childish self, the same child that played among the old ruins on the Keep, begged for him to continue, to keep going, to enter the mausoleum and see, with his own eyes, what laid ahead of him, in the silent and pitch black darkness.

The torch showed gates in front of him and he pulled them. Closed. The gates to Baelor’s grave were never closed, as he was a martyr and a saint for most of the population. Gingerly, he placed the torch between the grates of the gate, stretching his arm as far as he could and forcing his sight to see beyond the darkness, if possible.

Will it be a friend or a foe?, teased the little child in his brain…

And what he saw made his blood freeze. Dripping from one of several caskets in the mausoleum, the green tinge of wildfire reflected his fears and showed him what he was being too blind to see. With shaky hands, he ran towards the entrance, into the crowd waiting outside.

— —

A scream, the first one since the beginning of her scourge, echoed through the hall, followed by steps. His father looked up, his hand shaky, holding a glass of wine. He was a quiet man, with few words and smiles. However, that day, he was quieter than ever.

Jon walked around the room aimlessly, wishing he could enter there and take her hand in his, saying that everything would be alright. She would have a baby soon, a child to call her own. How she would be happy with that. How Robb would be happy with that.

He tried to take the thought of Robb taking the small child in his arms, kissing its chubby cheeks and laughing with pleasure of his mind. However, he couldn’t. It was already deep in his head, reverberating all his heart dreaded the most, although he couldn’t admit.

He had a choice and he took it. He tried to be a good man, a good leader. He almost died in service many times and only thought about her one or two times during those terrible months… No. He was lying. Every day he would remind himself of her. Of her smell. The way she smiled at him. The softness of her skin against his fingers.

She asked him to stay. To not leave her again. He didn’t know how to say to her, as she collapsed in front of him from pain and relief, that he could not stay with her. He was bonded to the Wall and she had a husband. They couldn’t be together. This was high betrayal…

“Milord?” Said the maid, shy, eyes fixed on the stone floor.

“Is the Queen alright?” Said Ned, his deep voice echoing on the walls. Jon was glad his father was by his side. Every time he opened his mouth, the sound that came of it was enough to reassure him that everything would be fine.

“She…Well…Your Grace asks for you…Lord Snow.” Murmured the maid, unable to look straight to them.

Oh, Gods, Jon thought. He felt his blood freezing inside his veins, his heartbeat accelerating, as his gaze went towards his father. What would he think? It was not proper…It was not right…She was the wife of his brother…

“Go, Jon.” He said in that tone that eased his mind. “She must want to tell you something.”

Suddenly, Jon was able to breathe again, walking aimlessly towards the room, just giving a small nod to his father, mouth open in surprise. The maid maintained the door opened, as he walked by, closing behind him and running towards the fireplace.

He turned, immediately, to the bed, where Haelena was sitting, one hand pulling lady Visenya towards her, the other holding tightly to the bed post, her head fallen back, making him see the bright blue veins of her neck, veins that he once traced with his tongue.

Her nightgown was wet and clinging to her skin, the sleeves hanging from her shoulders, making one breast show. They were fuller than before, the nipples rounder and bigger as well. It was supposed to be a view to arouse him, as once would, but she was in a state of disarray and despair that only pushed him towards her side, to take her hand to his shoulder and place another on her back, helping her to get straight in the bed.

She opened her eyes, those beautiful irises, maroon like strong wine and smiled.

“You are here.”

He hoped her child had her eyes.

“I am.” He whispered, holding her tightly, as another scream left out of her body.

“You need to push now, Your Grace.” Said Maester Aemon, raising his head from her knees.

She wasn’t able to speak, as another scream came from her throat, her body convulsing in his arms. He heard a soft sound, a pop of sorts, as her body went limp in his arms. She slowly opened her eyes, feeling that the pain was gone, but no other sound came from between her legs. The silence was unbearable.

And then, something. A soft and shy cry, coming Maester Aemon’s arms, growing louder and louder. And, from the Queen, another sound, a soft cry as well, just the trembling of her chest and the tears rolling down her face, her arms far stretched in search for her child.

“Congratulations, Your Grace. A girl.” Said Maester Luwin, sounding relieved, as he revolved the baby in wolf fur and placed it gently in the Queen’s arms.

Jon could only see the tip of her nose, a purplish color still, trembling from her soft cry. Haelena looked at her with devotion, a warm and huge smile in her face, fingers touching her baby cheek softly, as if afraid of breaking her. She raised her head, looking to Jon and asking:

“Could you count her fingers and toes for me?” She gave a shy smile. “I fear hurting her.”

It was a strange fear, but he didn’t question. She had just given birth and was tired as one can be. He just took the little body in his arms, carefully, unwrapping the furs to show her little purple body. Gently, Jon took her small hands and feet, counting each toe and each finger, gladly realizing all were there.

He, then, looked to her face, still a bit swollen and wrinkled from the birth. However, he could see a small birth mark by her chin, the bundle of thick black hair. Her eyes were wide open, watching with a very amusing attention all that was going on around her.

Big and grey eyes. Like Arya’s. Like his father’s.

Like his own eyes.

Finally, he raised his head to look at his former lover, the woman who he laid with every day before her wedding day, before her pregnancy was announced, so closely after she was bedded by her husband, the King. Could he…? Could they…?

He didn’t need any other answer, as she nodded slightly, with tears in her eyes.


	29. Of wolfs and dragons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, guys!

He could barely see where he was going. He was as tall as the knees of the crowd around him, making the experience even more claustrophobic. Tyrion collided with legs and boots, his face going straight towards somebody else’s knee. Even though Pod tried to help him, as his was tall as a tree, able to see farther away, he couldn’t, actually, listen to the warnings of the boy.

Until he reached open space, breathing the fresh air with excitement, relieved to be free from the enclosed space near the ground. However, soon he saw the horses approaching, the wedding party going towards the Sept, the grey and white of the Starks on flags and banners. He felt Pod’s hand groping his shoulder, pulling him out of the way, as the horses thundered away.

“I see her, milord!” Announced Pod, pulling him by his vest, pointing to somewhere amongst the horses. He could see, shining under the bright morning sun, copper hair, announcing her location.

“Fetch her, Pod! I will be right behind you!” He screamed, as the boy pushed his way towards the princess. To say that Tyrion was right behind the squire was a stretch: his tiny legs, crippled and wrong in many ways, were unable to run properly, without giving him jolts of pain.

But he knew he had to go towards the fair princess and her brother, the King. Especially after what he saw in the mausoleum. The heavy concentration of wildfire, the absence of Cersei, Jaime and Tommen from the festivities and the sad view of poor Willas Tyrel, sitting quiet and lonely in the front row, were enough to show to him that his adorable sister had some sort of a macabre plan.

_I can’t think of it right now._

He had to get to Sansa, as fast as his tiny legs could.

After avoiding another soldier in heavy armor coming towards him, he saw that Pod was not having much success in taking Lady Sansa from her horse. In fact, he was being stroke by the King with the flat end of his sword, as Pod tried to take the slim waist of Sansa in his hands, to pull her from her mount.

“You leave her this instant, Ser!” Exclaimed Robb, kicking poor Pod in the chin, making the boy go towards other soldiers, flabbergasted by the confusion.

“Your Grace! Your Grace!” Tyrion screamed, with no use. He was very tiny, in the middle of the mass of horses and soldiers. It didn’t matter. He couldn’t save them.

He couldn’t save them.

“Lord Tyrion!” He heard Pod calling for him, making the heads turn around, looking for the dwarf. He walked towards his squire, whose nose bleed profusely after being kicked in the shin by the northern king and, suddenly, hell broke loose.

“Lord Tyrion! Do you know this man?” Asked Robb Stark, pointing a finger to poor Pod. “He was trying to steal my sister from her horse!”

“Lord Tyrion!” Begged Sansa from her horse, her beautiful hair high in an up-do, half fallen after Pod tried to take her to safety. “What is happening? This man said that we are in danger. Is that true?”

He was only able to nod, while everyone around him started to speak at once. Robb continued his list of complaints regarding the way Pod approached their party, Sansa begged for him to explain what was happening and Pod spitted blood and swore under his breath.

“I beg you: please, let’s find somewhere calm and quiet to talk. I will explain everything to you and, then, I will escort you out of King’s Landing. But we have to do this quickly. I do not know how much time we have.” He said, looking straight to Robb Stark, forcing the young King to shut his mouth and listen to, just once, someone.

“Are you mad?” The King said, furrowing his brows. “I’ve made an agreement with your father, Lord Tyrion. Only a mad man would break it without any reason.”

“You have reasons to break it. Your life and the life of your sister are in danger. I’ve seen with my own eyes the danger that lay under the sept.” He begged, eyes frenetic searching in the crowd for the Lannister’s guards, prompting them to remain on the way. But Tywin didn’t have any doubts that the Young Wolf would do as he vowed to do. He was Ned Stark’s son, after all.

“Remember what Hel told you before we left, Robb.” Sansa said by his side, brows furrowed in fear. “She begged for you not to come. She knew that something wasn’t right in the South.”

“She also said that she didn’t see a thing in the flames. How could she be so certain?” He asked by her side, eyes fixed in Tyrion in an uneasy manner.

“She will be a mother.” Sansa said, meekly, eyes going towards them. “Do you remember how mother had a strange sense, every time something would happen to us? Do you remember the day Bran fell from the window? How she was uneasy, without knowing why? Listen to your wife, Robb.”

That made the King stay really quiet, lips crisped together.

“We need to fetch mother. We need to warn the others waiting at the sept.” He finally said, turning his gaze from Tyrion to the great building by the end of the road.

“We don’t have time, Your Grace.” Announced the dwarf, regretting at the same time, as the angry gaze of Robb Stark came back to his face. “Or we leave right now or no one will leave.”

He pondered for a second, turning to his sister, who placed a gloved hand in his, bright blue eyes fixed in her brother. Tyrion never realized how they looked so much alike, with the bright Tully blue eyes and the red hair.

“Jory, take your men and go straight to the Great Sept. Fetch Lady Catelyn, warn the others of danger and meet us at the King’s Wood. You know how to find us.” Said the Young Wolf. “Let’s go, Lord Tyrion. And you… fetch a horse for yourself in the next tavern.”

And they left, Tyrion wobbling around in the King’s horse, leaving the Great Sept behind.

— —

All was quiet.

He had taken the little princess in his arms, as she started to fuss a bit by the cradle near the fire. Her mother, fast asleep in her bed, didn’t noticed as the lord commander of the Night’s Watch approached the baby, murmuring soft words to her, and gently rocking her back to asleep.

But she didn’t want to sleep. Her big round eyes would stare at the fire, until Jon spoke to her. Then, she would look at him, her grey eyes a reflection of his own. And it pained his heart.

To avoid waking up the sleeping Queen, he went to her solar, sitting by the window, watching the snowstorm roar outside the castle walls, ice and fury over the northern people. He barely noticed as his father entered the room, walking quietly towards father and daughter, with a warm smile in his face.

“I thought she would be fast asleep by now.” He whispered, gently brushing his knuckles in her very warm skin. “However, apparently, she wants to see the storm, with those big grey eyes of hers.”

Jon felt his throat close with fear, the heavy weight of his lie over him. Over him and the little child that he held so carefully in his arms. He tried to avoid the truth, by saying:

“Grey like Arya’s.”

“Grey like yours.” His father answered, making his heart stop mid beating.

Jon slowly looked up, watching Ned Stark smile to his child, eyes shining in a way that he hadn’t see for too long.

“Haelena told me, not much after she discovered about the pregnancy herself.” Ned said softly, placing one hand over his son shoulder. “What will you do about it? Your brother will arrive any day now to claim his child.”

“What can I do about it?” Whispered Jon, looking at the girl. “I love her, father.”

They stood in a friendly silence for a while, as the baby blinked slowly, feeling the tiredness crept through her little body. Ned gently reached for the bundle in Jon’s arms, taking her carefully and rocking her back to asleep. Since Rickon grew enough to not fit in his father’s arms, Lord Stark had not held a child. Now, he seemed truly content.

“And her name?” He asked, making Jon suddenly remember the doubts that were creeping his brain.

He had asked Haelena briefly about it. Robb thought that the baby was a boy and hoped he would be named Eddard, in honor to his father. But the baby was a girl and he wasn’t her true father.

“Robb will probably call her Catelyn. But I wanted to name her after my mother.” Jon said, meekly, eyes far away from his father’s face, dreading to hear him avoid the subject once again. Especially now, he deserved to know the truth.

“Lyanna.” He heard, faintly, whispered to not be heard by no one, not even the walls around them or the mice running in the night. “Her name was Lyanna.”

So, she was a northerner. Maybe someone he met in the castle walls as he grew up. Someone that stole his attention while his bride was still engaged to the other brother. Or someone that he met while going south with his best friend. But she was there. She existed. And she was named Lyanna.

“She had told me that she wanted to name you Rickard, as father. But your father wanted you to be named for his ancestral, Aegon. You were the true heir and you deserved to have the right name.” Ned said in one breath, playing with her little fingers. “When Cat asked me, I couldn’t say the truth. So I lied for the first time in my life and called you Jon.”

Jon felt out of breath, as the truth of his parentage started to sink in. Lyanna… wasn’t a milk maid that allowed his father between her legs. She was a lady, Ned’s sister, that was kidnapped by Rhaegar Targaryen and died a terrible death.

While giving birth to him, Jon, the poor bastard in the North.

“Why did you lie?” He was able to ask, holding tightly to the corner of the window.

“Robert was enraged because Lyanna had died. I saw what the Lannister’s had done to Rhaegar’s children and what he tried to do with Viserys and little Daenerys. I knew that if I told you about your true father and mother, this secret would leave these walls and go straight to his ears.” He rocked the baby that threatened to cry. “You were the only thing left of my sister in this world, Jon. I didn’t want to lose you as well.”

The years of pain and loneliness were not a reflection of a filthy act perpetuated by a young and naïve lord. It was an act of love, a sacrifice of his honor in name of the woman he loved most after all those years: his sister. The wild and fearless Lyanna Stark, that fell in love with the Targaryen prince, making him leave his Dornish wife, giving her a child, pain and death.

He tried to imagine his life as the prince of Westeros, with a northern beauty as mother and a famous warrior as his father, but he couldn’t. The life he knew, that he embraced and loved, was a reflection of everything that happened to him. Going to the Wall, falling in love with the Valyrian princess, fighting the White Walkers, becoming Lord Commander. Everything was because Ned Stark chose to be his father.

“Thank you.” Jon manage to say. “For taking me. Loving me as your own.”

“You’re mine, Jon Snow. Never forget that.” Said Ned in a soft tune, before turning to the little girl in his arms. “I suppose Robb would accept a Targaryen name, considering Haelena’s heritage. I imagine Lady Visenya would be incredibly glad if this little one is to be called Visenya as well. Or maybe Rhaenys. She was Arya’s favorite princess.”

But Jon didn’t want to connect that little girl with the Targaryens. He could be the true father, a son of a dragon prince, after all. However, the little princess was born in one of the heaviest snowstorms he had ever seen in all those years on the Wall, covered in wolf furs, the dark hair and grey eyes screaming her heritage. She was as much a Stark as a Stark could be and would be named accordingly.

“I think that a name comes with the bearer story. After Lady Catelyn delivered Sansa…” Jon started to say, taking her daughter from his uncle’s (no, his father’s) arms. “Robb and I asked Maester Luwin why she was named Sansa.”

“Sansa Stark was the daughter of Rickon Stark, lord of Winterfell. She was quiet and obedient, a true lady.” He continued. “But she had a sister, Serena, who was fierce and brave. I always thought that Sansa should have been named Serena. Maybe the name was waiting for the proper owner.”

Ned Stark smiled to his nephew and his great-niece, fast asleep in her father’s arms.

“Serena Stark.” Jon whispered in her ear, naming her, after all.

“Serena Targaryen.” Whispered Ned back, glancing at the man that Jon had become.

— —

Perhaps it was not the best idea he had. He drank too much last night and now, opening his eyes to the world, watching the sun shining over him, made him question his former decision. He felt like shit and smelled like shit as well.

Which was not grand, as he had to go get married right now.

Slowly, with a harsh pain behind his eyes, Jaime got up and tried to clean himself as better as he could, considering the hangover he had. He only remembered his former friends from the Kingsguard by his side in the tavern, filling his glass and toasting his health, his bride’s beauty, his gold, his future children and other many aspects of his future life from now one.

He remembered the tavern wench sitting in his lap, prettier and younger than he could have hoped for, whispering obscenities in his ear, one hand pressing his member under the table, asking for him to meet her in her chamber downstairs.

If he met the wench, he didn’t know. He just remembered waking up in his own quarters at the Red Keep, feeling miserable and helpless, getting ready for a marriage he didn’t intended to celebrate. Especially when his bride was 20 years younger than himself and being married to him only because his own father threatened her brother.

It couldn’t be more humiliating, Jaime thought.

He hadn’t slept with a virgin in years. In fact, Cersei thought that since they lost their virginities together, he hadn’t slept with anyone besides herself. Which was, in any way, true. A man, especially a knight going to war, had his needs and the constant desire to find a warm bed to lay.

He didn’t know what to do near Lady Sansa. Would she know what he would do to her? Or would he had to explain that to her during their wedding night? Could he ask that to Lady Catelyn? Surely…

He tried to open the door, but it was closed. He never closed his door, considering that he had nothing to be stolen. He was, until some days earlier, a knight, whose only possessions in earth were his armor and his sword. Now, he came back incredibly drunk and could have, in a moment of insanity, closed his door for a calm night’s sleep.

Jaime searched around the room for the keys, lifting papers from his dinner table, raising pillows and cushions, kneeling on the floor and looking under the bed. He couldn’t find a thing. He tried once again, taking the sheets of his bed, launching himself in a frenetic search, listening in his brain the icy cold words of his father, as he arrived late for his own wedding.

He would never forget that. Probably, he would never forgive as well.

He prompted himself towards the window of his chamber, far up in the east tower, searching for the Sept. Maybe, the party still didn’t leave the castle. Maybe he still had time.

No. He saw the banners and the guards arriving at the sept, little dots far away from him, half covered by the crowd that gathered around to see the marriage of the handsome knight, Jaime Lannister, and the fair princess, Sansa Stark. For days, they would celebrate the marriage, with feasts and tourneys. Money would be thrown to the smallfolk waiting by the sept and cake would be distributed at night.

“Please! Someone! I’m still here!” He screamed, trying to force the door again, too heavy to even tremble under his fingers.

He knocked, first, then hit with his flat hand, time after time, screaming loudly so a guard could hear him and come to his rescue. What a shame… a knight needing to be rescued on his wedding day, like a damsel in distress.

It was when he was considering to jump towards the door, to brake the lock, that he heard the sound. High and strong, made the walls and furniture tremble in its place, like an earthquake. He stood very still for a moment, watching his surroundings shake like leaves on a tree, in a windy day, hoping that the ceiling wouldn’t fall over his head.

After everything stopped, he ran towards the window again, watching the green flames engulf everything around the Great Sept, prompting themselves towards the bright blue sky. He could hear the screams and could see the crowd, that once was happily gathered outside, running in complete despair towards the Keep, seeking from refuge from this terrible fate.

“Cersei!” He screamed, his blood turning cold in his veins, as he realized that she was supposed to be there, with Willas and their child, his baby boy, Tommen. “CERSEI!”

He jumped against the door, too strong for his weak attempts, very still in the same way that it remained. He shook the handle and knocked time after time, with no use. Taking his sword from his hilt, pulling his bright crimson and gold cloak out of the way, he started to hit the door, chips of wood flying around him every time the blade stroke the object.

He could feel the tears mingle with his sweat, his muscles sore with the exercise, that gave him no results. The ancient door remained practically the same, chipped and bruised, but whole. He let the blade fall on the ground, falling on his knees as well, closing his eyes and letting the tears flow. He had lost her. He had truly lost her and it hurt far more than he ever imagine it would.

“Jaime?” He heard in front of him, as arms involved him in a tight embrace. “I’m here. I’m fine.”

He raised his head, watching the bright green emeralds watching him back, golden locks over the black canvas of her dress. She had a wicked smile on her face, staring him right in the eyes, one hand cupped in his cheek, softly and reassuringly.

“How did you enter…?” He started to say, feeling his throat suddenly dry. “It was locked…”

“I had the key, dear.” She whispered, passing her long fingers in his moist hair. “I couldn’t let you go. But we are fine now. Everything is fine now. You don’t need to leave me, you don’t need to please father. We don’t need to please anyone anymore. It’s just us now. Now and forever.”


	30. Of woods and stones

She had her baby in her arms, for what seemed like forever. Haelena couldn’t stop looking at her tiny body, that fitted right in the nook of her elbow, looking so…peaceful. She felt a warm tear fall down her cheek, splashing over her babe’s fur, her heart heavy with distress.

She couldn’t hold her secret for much longer.

Lord Eddard had told her that, while her child was in her belly, it was not his secret for him to tell. But now, leaving and breathing in her arms, with the dark hair and sad eyes, her daughter announced her true parentage for anyone to see.

She would have to tell Robb, he said, holding the child with tenderness. He loved Jon but he also loved his son. Her lie has grown out of control and was making everyone miserable around her. He had discovered, very recently, that tell the truth was the best case for an unwary heart.

“He will kill me, Lord Eddard.” She whispered in despair. “I betrayed him as his Queen, although it was not my intention… He will get my head for that.”

“You’re a princess from a powerful kingdom, my girl. He will not have your head.” He said, placing a warm hand over her shoulder. “But you will have to go away.”

Lord Stark told her that she would probably get an annulment. Her marriage would not exist before the Seven God’s eyes. Nor her child. She would be considered a bastard, a Snow as her father, her titles taken from her, sent to Lord knows where.

Robb would be devastated but Jon… he would be completely broken. Protected by his vows and a Night’s Watch knight, he would be safe away from the King’s rage. Probably, he would be sent to a faraway place beyond the Wall, to be frozen to death or engulfed by the dead monsters.

She wished to remain in silence, to avoid telling the truth to her husband, that would arrive any day now. She wished she was strong enough to look in his eyes and tell him that the baby she carried was his, Serena Stark, the princess in the North.

She couldn’t.

The weight of all she did to him, all the misery they inflicted in one another was over her head, making her life a living hell. She couldn’t look at Jon since the birth, knowing about all the lies that tied them together in misery and loneliness.

Serena Snow, the daughter of the fallen Queen of the North.

She held tightly to her baby, being taken by the power of her tears, gasps leaving her body in spasms. All she was trained to do would be thrown in the waste. Years preparing for her role, to nothing, as she would be sent to a remote land, dishonored and childless, as the White Walkers sweeps through the kingdom in anger and terror.

She was supposed to be the savior of them all, the person that would be praised for generations as the hero of the north, the savior of the Starks and the powerful princess who defeated the long night.

She was nothing like that.

“You will tell him, won’t you?” A voice whispered by the door of her room. “You’re afraid of what he will do. After.”

“Please, Jon. Let me be.” She begged, closing her eyes in shame from her tears.

“I will protect you. I will find you shelter. I will support you and Serena.” She heard his voice coming closer, making her turn her head to look at him, walking carefully towards her.

“You will leave the Night’s Watch to be with us? You will call your daughter yours and claim me as your wife?” Haelena whispered, eyes fixed in Jon.

“I can’t…Not now, with the White Walkers coming towards the Wall…” He paused, feeling ashamed and powerless. “If I could, I would.”

“So, don’t you say that you will protect us. I’m the only one left to fight for myself, Jon. I made mistakes, lied and deceived. I should have never visited you at the Wall. I should have never slept with you. I was a fool!” She cried, as the baby tossed and turned in her arms.

The Lord Commander was by her side, one hand on her shoulder, turning her towards him, eyes full of pain.

“You regret our time together? You regret our child, Haelena?” He murmured, looking at the baby.

“I regret that we were children. I regret we didn’t know better. I regret the pain and suffering I caused because of my own desires and wishes. I regret I was vain and petty, that I was spoiled and stubborn. I lived my best days by your side, but you left, Jon. And now, everything that I find in my way is sorrow.” She walked away from him, placing the sleepless baby in her crib.

“She is not a sorrow. She will never be a sorrow!” He exclaimed, point at their baby in her crib.

“She will be a bastard! She will have no mother to tend to her! Robb would never allow us to be together, in Westeros. She will be a Snow, left to fend for herself in a land that no one could save.” She paused, tears in her eyes from the both lives the lost in one year. “I love her but my heart aches for the future I gave her.”

— —

The green flames could be seen from the woods. Robb stood very still, waiting for something, anything, that would prompt him out of this lucid dream.

“We must go.” Spoke Tyrion, softly, as they waited the large flames shine under the westerosi sky for what felt like hours.

“We can’t. We have to wait. Jory went to fetch mother. They must be on the way.”

The silence engulfed the small party like the flames, being broken by the soft sobs coming from his side. He didn’t dare to look, as he knew they came from Sansa, mourning her mother. Sansa was a girl and a princess, she could have these moments of sentimentalism. But Robb was a king and a warrior: he would wait, as long as he could. After, privately, he could mourn his mother in peace.

“They are not coming back.” Tyrion whispered, walking towards the horse his squire arranged for him. The boy had to make crude adaptations, considering the short stature of his knight, but managed to find two nice animals for their journey. Journey to where?, Robb asked himself.

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, that’s true. I, however, know that, considering the size of the flames, nothing around the sept survived to tell the story. And that includes all those waiting to see the fair bride.” The dwarf added, making Robb finally diverge his gaze from the flames, towards the Lannister.

“And how, may I ask, you know that?” Robb asked, wanting to slash the little man with his sword.

“I used wildfire against Stannis troops. I’ve seen what they do, boy. Your mother isn’t here, anymore. Or my father. We should go, now.”

Robb blinked, feeling the tears trying to leave their confinement behind his eyes. He nodded, gulping and trying to take away from his throat the dry lump he felt stuck there. He couldn’t surrender to sadness or sorrow. He simply couldn’t, not while he could still hear Sansa’s sobs.

“Alright. Let’s go.” He managed to murmur, gently pulling the harness to send his horse towards the Red Keep.

“Boy! Where do you think you’re going?” Tyrion called from behind. “We can’t go back to my sister’s keep. We have to leave King’s Landing!”

Robb felt the anger coming back inside him, pushing away the sadness he felt after realizing his mother was dead, as where his knights. His friends. How could that little man, that Lannister above all, suggest they flee in secrecy, as his life was placed in danger? He was a King! This was a terrorist act and could not be left behind.

“We must speak to the Queen. Your father is dead, my mother is dead and the life of the princess and the King of the North were placed in danger. She has to do something! Discover who is the person behind those vile acts!” He paused, looking around them, the dark green layer of trees over their heads.

“Can’t you see? There is only one person accountable for those acts, milord. Queen Cersei herself. She was not there. Or my brother, or the King. The kingsguard was safe within castle walls, as hell broke lose in the sept. She is the one to blame and when she sees that you’re alive, in front of her, believe me, she will not think twice before demanding one of her minions to do that!”

“She can’t do that. I am the King!” Robb roared, feeling like a young boy.

“She can and she will! She has nothing to lose anymore! Father can’t control her from the grave and her precious boy is dead.” Tyrion said, lips compressed.

Sansa was not crying anymore: she had a scared look upon her face, red lips and red cheeks from the tears in her face. They stared at each other, as Sansa slowly said:

“Maybe, Lord Tyrion is right.”

Robb turned to his younger sister, the beauty of the North. She stood tall in her own horse, back straight like an arrow, a gelid look in her eyes.

“It would be safer for us to confront Queen Cersei from our boarders. There, we could call for arms and attack. We would have the support from the Riverlands and, possibly, from the Stormlands. King Stannis may still want the revenge from the defeat he so dreaded.”

“You cannot be serious.” Robb replied, making Sansa look confused to him.

“Explain to me, brother, what is wrong with my thinking.”

“We cannot flee Kings Landing like that! I am king! Cersei betrayed our trust and she must pay for that. By the moment we break the castle walls…” Robb suggested, being interrupted by Sansa.

“Break them with what army, Robb? We are alone here, only with Lord Tyrion and Ser Podrick to thank for saving us. We could have been dead, engulfed by flames. You would leave a widow and an orphan. Have you thought about that?” She asked, not giving him time to answer. “You need to put your pride aside, Robb. If it was enough for Rhaella Targaryen and her children, it is enough for us.”

Robb chocked in her words. By the moment her left Winterfell, he avoided thinking about Haelena. They have parted their ways in bad terms and, probably, they would never find the sentiment between the two of them, like they found, back in the first days of their marriage. However, she carried his child, his heir, a baby that could have been left fatherless, if not for the lamb in lion’s fur.

“Are you sure?” He asked, gazing at his sister’s deep blue eyes, that stared at him with so much confidence.

“I am.”

He nodded, pulling his horse reins towards the small group formed deep inside the King’s Wood.

“What you suggest for us to do, them?”

The King watched as Sansa’s eyebrows shot up in her brow, her face declaring her surprise. She didn’t expect to put in charge of the adventure, after all. She wanted to boost Robb’s confidence and clear his thoughts, advising him of what to do. But was not waiting that.

“I think we should meet Lord Stannis. From his hold in Dragonstone, we can send word to Winterfell, warning them we are alive. We could gather what’s left from the Stormlands troops and go up to the Vale of Arryn. There, Aunt Lysa could help us and send word to our uncle in Riverrun.”

Robb nodded, kicking gently his horse, placing the group in motion. One day, Sansa would be a fine advisor for a King.

— —

“I will not kneel.” Repeated Lord Stannis in front of them in the castle at Dragonstone. “You should have stayed in the Dothraki Sea, with the beats you call family!”

Daenerys gulped, closing her eyes to control the rage coming up from her stomach. It was difficult for them to understand how the khalasar was her family. The unsullied, her dragons. They were there when she most needed them and could see her for her own value, as their queen, and not the heiress of a mad man.

“Lord Stannis, we will ask again. Surrender your troops, kneel to your true Queen and King and help us to take the throne from the Lannisters.” Daenerys repeated, feeling the hot breath of Drogon behind her back. “I understand you believe they did wrong by your brother. Let me help you, my lord. You will recover your lands and your ancient seat.”

He kept looking at her, stormy blue eyes. He didn’t say a word, just kept looking at her, tall as a tower and strong as a bull. By his side, his wife, Lady Selyse, murmured soft words for herself, non-stop. Since they arrived in the island and took the lord and the lady as prisioners, she kept the chanting, the humming that was making Daenerys mad.

No, not mad. She wasn’t mad.

“STOP, WOMAN!” Roared Aegon by her side, alarming the dragons behind them. She could feel the warm breath and the smoke coming from their anxious snouts, waiting for the feast. “Stop with this humming! I will not ask you twice.”

She didn’t start crying or begging for mercy. Her cold pale eyes turned towards the monarch and her lips compressed in a thin line. Daenerys could see the rage coming up from her chest, the spots of redness declaring her anger towards the small party.

“I am done, sire. I finished my prayers and the Lord of Light heard my pleads.” She, then, turned to her husband, watching him with those cold eyes of hers. “If you surrender to her, you are weak. I will not kneel to a mad woman and a ghost.”

“You are talking about my wife, madam! And your Queen.” Aegon screamed from his seat, getting up. She could feel Viserion excited behind her, his mind and feelings so connected to his new master, that she felt, sometimes, like she was betrayed by her own child.

“She is not my queen. And she will never be.” Selyse declared, spiting her words to the ground. “Take me, if you want, burn me at the stake or make your dragons devour me. My lord will welcome me from the flames and the heat and I WILL BE REBORN.”

“That’s enough. Take her outside.” Declared the King, motioning for the unsullied.

Selyse walked by the side of guards the same way she remained all those hours: quiet and almost silent, the humming still echoing from her throat to the hall, reverberating even when she already left the room.

“Now, Lord Stannis.” Daenerys started, afraid of what might be the reaction of her husband towards the old lord. “I must ask you again. Will you kneel?”

_Please, please, please…_

“I will not.” He answered, out of breath.

Before she could say anything, her guards were already placing themselves by the side of the man, that seemed so tiny and afraid right now. He was shaking hard and could not walk properly, needing to be taken by the guards, his body convulsing in shivers.

“Now, bring the girl.” Aegon announced by her side and she felt her heart getting colder, like it was dripped in icy waters.

“I am sure there is no need to do nothing like that. She is only a child, Aegon.” She whispered, watching the guards escort the tiny princess and her ferocious knights.

“We have to stand our ground, Dany. I’m not comfortable about that either, but we can’t accept rebels in our midst. One soiled lord or lady could be enough to take our crowns from our heads.” He whispered back and she nodded shortly, watching the child approach the throne, huge, scared eyes covering her features, together with the grey marks of her disease. She couldn’t be more than two and ten years old, with her large ears and long bones.

By her side, stood Ser Davos, the Onion Knight. He was short of fingers in his hand, something he acquired after being found smuggling in the coast. By her other side, stood very tall and very blond Lady Brienne of Tarth, shining in her new armor. She heard that Lady Brienne was a knight for Renly Baratheon, before he perished in Blackwater. Since them, she returned to the island and created a solid bound with the child, whose eyes were so bright and smart.

“Shireen Baratheon, Lady of Storm’s End, I come in front of you, as your Queen, demanding for your acknowledgment and your surrender, delivering your title of Queen and your claims to the Iron Throne to me. In exchange, you shall remain with your ancestral lands and seat, while taking a seat as my trustful advisor. Will you kneel?” Daenerys announced, feeling her heart beating fast inside her chest.

_Please, please, please…_

The girl looked straight to Ser Davos, an illiterate man, an old smuggler and thief. She searched in his eyes what to do and what to say, despite of all that happened during the last hours. She heard the sound of death and fire, she saw her parents being arrested and taken away, to die from their own stubbornness. Still, she searched for comfort. For family.

She was only a girl.

And slowly, she nodded to the old sailor and one knee fell on the ground, followed by another. Daenerys had a new subject in her new home.


	31. Of mourn and sorrow

Jaime stood where once the great sept was erected, the great building that challenged the gods and men, a work of craftsmanship never seen in that land. Now, it was a crater, black and smudged with ashes, the great and solid rocks that made its large arches reduced to pebbles on the ground.

He couldn’t breathe, as he roamed around the edge, eyes searching for… for what?

_For her_.

He searched for the bright glimpse of copper hair, maybe a slight movement, a sign that he had not sent a family to die. A girl still so young and fresh, beautiful, with soft skin, pale as a moonlight. That girl that would have been his wife.

He hoped, in Cersei arms, as she comforted him, that he had dreamt with the explosion. That all was a mistake.

But it wasn’t.

And as the days passed around them, the smoke grew fainter and the chaos started to dissipate, making he realize that the little hope he cultivated, that spark of joy that he felt thinking that maybe, only maybe, his bride’s family had survived this attack, was still there, deep in his heart.

Seven days have passed, not a soul present on that day survived and now they had to move on.

“You are overreacting, you know.” Whispered Cersei by his side and he looked at her, dressed in gold. Her hair fell in her back, mingling with the gold and yellow brocade of her beautiful dress, the heavy golden jewelry in her temples and her throat, with the Lannister lion roaring to him.

“This is a funeral, Cersei. Your father is dead. Your brother is dead. My bride is dead. A King is dead, or do you forget that Robb Stark was in the Sept as well?” He whispered, pulling her towards a servant. “Go back to the Keep and change. A nice and plain black dress. Something tasteful.”

He could see her eyes shining with anger, the big, green jades staring back at him with defiance. Lifting her chin, she said:

“I am very pleased with this dress, Jamie. Thank you for your concern.” She paused for one second, looking at him under her heavy eyelashes. “I don’t know why, but I don’t feel like mourning today. I feel like dancing.”

He grabbed her arm, pushing her closer to him, lips pressed together. The servant by their side watched in terror the two siblings and gave a step back, turning his back to them.

“Everyone will talk about this, Cersei.”

She raised one eyebrow, unimpressed.

“Let them talk, darling. I don’t care.” She pushed her arm from his tight grip. “Now, let’s not make a seen in front of the smallfolk, how about that?”

He watched as Cersei walked towards the new designed septon, a plain and simple man, that do not care much for the riches and comforts from the faith. The man did not appear very concerned towards the choosing of color made by his sister, but the other nobles noticed and, soon, a hush started to spread around them.

After all, Cersei was a bright, golden dot in a field of black dresses and vests, declaring her sentiments towards the dead very simply:

She could not care less.

His mind roamed to a different time, simpler and happier, where he and Cersei where discovering each other and their feelings. She was a bright and beautiful thing, with soft skin and those beautiful bright green eyes surrounded by dark lashes. Jaime had the same eyes, but a fainter hue, lighter, like his father’s. A green that could be just like the sea outside Lannisport in windy days. When he was a child, he wished he could steal Cersei’s emerald eyes. When they grew up, he discovered that he only needed to stare at them, to feel satisfied.

He remembered her dancing with Prince Rhaegar, cheeks flushed in delight and a gentle smile in her lips. He had not married the Dornish princess yet and all thought that a match would be made between the daughter of the Hand to the King and the heir to the throne. Cersei was glowing that day and Jaime felt the bitter taste of jealousy in his mouth.

When did she change? He asked himself, watching her from afar, as the septon chanted the hymns. When did she become so cruel?

Maybe, she never did change. Maybe she was like that as always. He remembered how excited she was, thinking about becoming the princess of Westeros, the bride to young and beautiful Rhaegar Targaryen. Even when laying by her side, on those secret nights, touching her naked body and kissing her sweet lips, he remembered how she would babble all the time about Rhaegar and her new post.

And even after, when Rhaegar laid dead in the Trident and she was married to Robert, it was the same thing. Robert was brute and cruel, still enamored by the ghost of his bride, the wild wolf of the North, but he was the new King. And Cersei wouldn’t mind being the bride of that beast: she would be Queen, after all.

Did she ever care about him?

Well, she cared enough to kill her bride and her family. No, that’s not true. Cersei killed them because she was jealous he would be away from her fingertips, that he would be of someone else’s. Dear Cersei, so used to get everything she ever wanted. She wanted to be Queen, she would be. She wanted to have the most coveted bachelor in Westeros, she would have. In her mind, she wanted to be the most happy, beautiful Queen in all land and she would be.

She just didn’t want people taking the stuff she wanted so dearly. Even though she wanted them just because she could have it.

That made Jaime’s heart break, as he watched her in her full golden glow.

— —

She watched from afar the old lord sitting by the weirwood tree, his bastard son by his side, one hand over his shoulder, head’s down in prayer. Jon was giving Lord Eddard the comfort that Haelena could not provide, while the white wolf watched from afar.

After all, she had lied to the man.

She had vouched she would keep Robb alive. And now, bless his soul, his body was ashes and dirt, sitting somewhere among the ruins of the Great Sept or being taken by the wind, returning to home as dust freckles in the night air.

Sansa… Poor, dear, beautiful, Sansa. She tried to protect her as well, the best she could, with the bulge of the pregnancy slowing her down and making her defenseless. She had tried, down to her knees in mud and snow, begging, pleading to Robb not leave her. To not take the girl.

But she had lost her favors with the King and now they were gone.

Lady Catelyn was in her mind, with the solid blue eyes staring at her with less and less warm as she and Robb grew apart. The Tully woman knew Haelena was the reason behind Robb suffering and she could never forgive or forget what the Valyrian princess was doing.

They were all dead now, ashes twirling in the wind of King’s Landing, reaching seas and meadows, being engulfed by waves and feet. Their presence now was relegated to her memory, together with the worried faces of the knights that accompanied the King to the other kingdom. Good man, brave man.

All dead because of her.

She placed one hand over her black stomacher, of the dress she had won from the Black Castle wildlings. She couldn’t breathe properly, feeling the size and the weight of the guilt in her shoulders. She couldn’t even look at the dress without remembering how Lady Catelyn disapproved of it, saying that black was a color dedicated for mourning and was a bad omen to have it in a bride’s _trousseau_.

Dear Lord, she wasn’t able of doing anything right.

She watched for some minutes more as Jon remained by the side of the man, comforting him, without knowing he was not in fact his father, but his uncle. The man that raised him in pain and darkness, with the best intentions of keeping him close and alive, allowing that the secrets and the lies around him created a lonely life for the poor boy.

She turned away, glad that now the old lie made them bound over the death of Robb, Sansa and lady Catelyn, their true family. She wished Bran and Arya were there as well, taking care of little Rickon, sickly and feeble in the nursery, his sore red eyes gleaming to her when she visited the poor child. She would touch him behind her leather gloves, afraid of startling him with the uncommon warmth of her body.

Hands. She looked at them, covered by her mittens. Everything she touched transformed in pain and chaos. She touched Ned Stark on those first days in Winterfell and he had to flee in the night, as his best friend died in front of him. Now, he wept, after discovering that his family was killed in a terrible accident before Sansa’s marriage.

She touched Jon Snow on those snowy nights in the true North and he was almost killed by dead beings, returning to a very pregnant Haelena and discovering that, after all, he had broken his vows, the vows that he respected so much, lusting for his brother’s wife and bearing her a child. He had lied, fornicated and produced offspring, while donning the title of Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, a title he thought he didn’t deserve, after all.

She touched Robb Stark and she transformed his life in a leaving hell. He lost his trust and his temper, as she lied and deceived him. If he had lived long enough, he would learn of her final deception, watching the child that looked so much like his bastard brother. Haelena, then, would be sent away, childless and helpless, with only herself to blame.

Now, she was the strong and brave widow of Robb Stark, the Queen Regent while the princess was still a child. She had not wept his death, as she had already wept for him for too long, on those stormy and windy days, waiting for the birth of Serena. She couldn’t cry. She wouldn’t cry.

It was better this way.

She hadn’t noticed her steps had taken her to the nursery. Rickon was sleeping peacefully, surrounded by warm furs protecting his little body from the chill coming from the nooks and corners of the castle. By the other side, Serena stood in her crib, body moving in haste, trying to take her little legs and feet from the grip of the furs.

Haelena laughed at the child, taking her in her arms, lulling in with Valyrian words in her lips. She watched the bright grey eyes staring back at her and felt a warm feeling, the same she felt when she watched Jon from afar, even after their fight some days before. She loved that child so much and still… and still she would lie to her as well.

She watched around the room, seeing the furniture that do not belonged to Serena, the walls that were not hers to wreck, the tapestry that were not hers to admire. She would grow in that Castle knowing the story of a father who was not hers, a man that, if alive, would have watched in horror those beautiful grey eyes, the constant reminder of his wife treason and his brother’s mistakes.

Maybe he could have learned to love her, as she was a child and not stained from the guilt and sorrow she and Jon had over their shoulders. But Robb was a man, and men were proud. They were proud of their conquests, don’t matter if lands, money, cattle or women. Robb loved her as his thrustful wife. He bedded her believing she was a virgin.

She could not let her child live a lie based on a faint dream, where everything worked well and, through the years, she loved Jon alone and in silence, enjoying the company of a faithful and just husband. No. It was not right.

She would settle the matters that bonded her to this land and this people. She would make the right choices and correct her mistakes. The Great Night was coming, as she noticed, with the wintery wind blowing by her windows. She had to be ready.

And after that… Well. After that she would come home with her child, letting them live their lives as they want, with her as just a faint memory of a distant past.

— —

They have been in the road for days, travelling slowly and carefully by the edge of the road, sleeping in complete darkness in the hard soil, drinking and eating from what the earth gave to them. Tyrion was deathly afraid of entering a village and someone recognize them, even though Robb was almost sure he had not seen one Lannister troop passing by the King’s Road.

Sansa would not talk much, always watching Robb by her side, her bright blue eyes saying things for her she didn’t dare to say out loud: words about betrayal, fear, confusion, anger. He could see, by the way she stared at him that in her mind she wanted to talk about Theon, Haelena, their mother, Bran and Arya and the mess that was the attempt to marry her to Jaime Lannister.

However, she didn’t dare. He could see her looking to the other side, crisping her lips and shutting her lids, avoiding the thoughts that were so unhelpful in a moment like that. She remained stoic and proud, serene as a princess should be, while her mind roamed places he wished Robb could avoid forever.

Podrick was a merry fella, humming his way through the woods, the only sound that they heard for some days, while the shock of the explosion and the mourning from the lives of their family were still fresh in their mind. Even Tyrion, who never had a good relationship with his father, remained very quiet the first days, being almost impossible to decipher what was the sound coming from the woods and what was his breath.

But them, they leaved the King’s Woods, entering the Stormlands and their voices were back. It started with little comments about the day and the night. Then, it progressed to warnings about food and water or people. At last, the questions started to appear, some short, some long, but always with a sentiment that they had to move on.

That’s how Robb discovered the whole story about the wildfire and the explosion. He and Tyrion would spend some time at night, seating side by side, talking about those last days before the wedding, searching for signs.

It could be useless, but bonded the two man, while Pod hummed near the fire, watching the ambers shine over Sansa’s copper hair.

They entered a village by the peninsula, a land already deep in the Stormlands and the closest place to the island in that region. It had a strong smell of sea and fish, with its pebbles on the beach and a strong wind passing by, making all the vegetation bound to its command.

The days in the road made them weary and tired. Robb’s well fresh beard was now bushed and dirty from the road. Pod had lost some weight and his high cheeks were not so high anymore. Tyrion could be mistaken by a very hairy dog easily, specially when he was not up on the horse, bobbing about in his improvised saddle. And Sansa. Well, Sansa seemed lost and hungry, with the pale lips and deep eyes.

The faces of the fisherman by the pebbled beach turned to them, humming in low voices to each other, probably about the weird view of the battered group and the weird dog that refused to sit on the horse’s back. They had doubts in their eyes, probably because they had never seen capes and cloaks of such bright colors and such elegance as theirs, despite the use and dirt covering the fabric.

How could a wealthy group, such as theirs appeared to be, came by the tiny and lonely village of Mirstone?

“How do you do, good man?” Started Robb, talking to the first man that approached the horses, a large and grumpy sort, with black hair and dark blue eyes. Probably a lost offspring from some of the old Baratheon lords, famous for not being very faithful towards the marriage vow.

“I’ve been better, sir.” He nodded towards his friends, sitting by their boats. “Things have been difficult since the old lord ran away to the Dragon island.”

“Oh, really?” Robb was able to say, without sounding too rude. But the man already was interested in discussing how the lives of everyone living in the tiny village was miserable.

“We march into war, right? And then, when we came back, after half of the village just collapsing with the guts out or fried to death, where is our king, aye? He not only walked away, but he took our seeds, or cattle and let us rotting in here.” He paused for a while, his hands on his lips looking pissed. “That man, since he decided to be King, is messing with trouble. First the Red Witch, then the war, then the monsters started to appear.”

“Monsters?” Asked Tyrion, startling most of the men who still thought that he was a dog. “Are you losing your mind, man?”

“Aye, sir.” Declared another man, with sandy blond hair and some missing teeth. “I swear to the Seven! I’ve seen it flying at night, black as the sky, looking for its victims.”

“A flying monster, nonetheless.” Murmured Tyrion.

“You can mock, if you like. But we’ve all seen it. Them. The three of them, flying around, only by night, quiet as a whisper. Some say they are a plague. But I think they’re dragons.” Continued the sand haired man.

The other men scoffed him, as this option was nonsense.

“Since the lord went to Dragonstone, they started to appear. We’ve seen what the Red Witch can do. What if she brought them to life? The old Targaryen dragons are buried in that island, the dragons from the days Aegon come to this land. I’ve seen them and I’m sure I’ve seen Balerion, Vhagar and Meraxes in the sky. This is a sign, milord. A sign that he’s coming back.” Continue the toothless man, pointing towards the sky.

“Who is coming back, good man?” Asked Robb, brows together in worry.

“Aegon, of course. He is our knight, who will take us away from this sorrow.”


	32. Of feelings and mistakes

She had been for hours over the manuscripts, the eyes hurting from the candlelight. Her breasts were sore, as the milk dripped from the nipples, after so many hours without being touched. The tired Queen closed her eyes for a moment, wishing she could just go to back, waking up in her room, back in Valyria.

Too late now.

“You should get some rest.” A voice came by her side, as she slowly opened her eyes again.

She got her back straight and started to turn the pages of the old manuscript again, as nothing really happened. Jon, slowly, placed his hand over hers, interrupting her movement.

“We can’t ignore each other forever.”

“I’m not ignoring you, Lord Snow.” She answered angrily. “I’m helping you, that’s all.”

“Helping me?” He asked, raising one eyebrow in doubt.

She avoided his gaze, as she read for the 11th time the same line in the textbook.

“As a matter of fact, yes. My darling good-father told me that you came all the way from the true North to ask for help. He told me great stories about undead monsters deep in the cold plains and how they are coming towards the Wall. He also told me that you came here to ask my late husband for help, to defeat the monsters and bring peace to the land.” She paused, raising one eyebrow, eyes fixed on the words. “Am I right?”

“You already knew most of it. You knew they were coming, Haelena. Don’t lie.” He answered, placing one hand over her shoulder.

“Never mind. If you need help, help is what you are going to get. I know that you told Lord Eddard about the need of dragonglass. We have a short supply in the North, but I’ve sent a letter to Lord Stannis in Dragonstone. It’s famous for the caves filled with the mineral. I also believe that valyrian steel could be a match against the wights, so I’ve also sent a missive back home, requesting the shipment of 500 swords and…” But she didn’t finish. His strong and warm hand was in her chin, while she babbled, making her eyes meet his, grey and tempestuous like her daughter’s.

They stared at each other, listening to the wind blow outside and the fire crackle on the fireplace. It was so strange, to be near him once again, feeling the constant need of his hands over her body, of his lips near her skin. She thought that with time, she would forget this. But time passed, she got married, pregnant and abandoned, and now, he was there, making her melt just with his gaze.

“Look at me.” He urged.

“I can’t, Jon. We can’t.” She whispered, lowering her eyes to the floor. “What use would it make? Looking at you, feeling things that I’m not allowed to…”

“You’re a widow, now.”

“And you’re still the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, Jon. We remain in the same situation that we left behind, so many moons ago. The troops are your destiny, you love what you do. You will not leave it and be dishonored just for me. You’re not like that.” She continued, feeling the urge to punch him getting stronger.

“I don’t know who I am anymore.” He said softly, watching as her eyes gone up to meet his, fool of worries and doubts. So, she knew, after all. She was like that, full of surprises. “Or, at least, I know who I am supposed to be.”

“Who told you?”

“My fa… Lord Eddard, the day after the birth of Serena.” He answered, stroking her soft skin with his finger.

She stood very quiet, looking at that strong and brave man, that faced monsters, hunger and the terrible cold in the deep North, the man who grew up living a lie. His grey eyes weren’t sad like she expected, but they had a strange type of shining… like a yearning.

“Sometimes… Sometimes I feel that, for Jon Snow, the Night’s Watch was the only path possible. I was a bastard, alone and scared in the world, who was in love with the bride of his brother, the man destined to be the King in the North. But… For Aegon Targaryen… Things could have been different.” He said, one hand cupping her cheek, eyes showing images she could just imagine in her wild dreams.

Aegon Targaryen could have always been her betrothed. He would have been the true King of Westeros, the leader of armies and people. He would have power in his hands and the ability to help her with her plans. They could have been married, with a true, legitimate child to call their own, working to build a strategy.

However, she was now, alone and desperate, the widow of an unhappy man, who left her pain and sadness, questioning her own capacity of leadership. She could be a Queen, but at what cost?

“I wish things were different for us, Jon.”

He looked at her, confused, waiting for her to keep going.

“I wish we haven’t found pain and sorrow. I wish life was easier for us, kinder.”

He smiled, understanding her meaning, taking her hands in his and kissing her knuckles. That shy gesture made her heart skip a beat, like it used to in his presence and she felt a rush. She felt the need to ask him, one more time. The last time.

“When everything is over and the war is done, will you come with me? Far away from Westeros, lords, ladies and duties. Go to a place where it is only us. Will you come?”

— —

Robb couldn’t sleep. Since the day they arrived in that part of the peninsula, they have been trying to find a boat to take them to the island. However, as the fear of the monster still vivid in the fisherfolk mind, every single owner of a vessel in the village was refusing to give them a ride.

He opened his eyes and watched the stars over him, wishing he could see the monters that everyone spoke about. If he saw them, he would understand the fear of the simple men to take them to the land named by Dragons. However, each night that went by without his eyes getting a glimpse of the shadows they so talked about, he felt like he was being used and manipulated once again.

And that was a feeling that led him to very bad decisions.

His mind tried to roam towards Haelena. Was their child born already? Would the news regarding the explosion arrived in Winterfell? Was Haelena worried about him?

He thought he missed her, for some time. Then, he realized that he missed those first days, before the pain and the heartbreak. Things that he could never recover, doesn’t matter how they got past their differences.

He first heard, deep in the night, faint, a cry from a beast. It could have been anything, but it was deep and sad, making his skin tingle with expectation. He raised his head, searching around him, behind the woods and far at the sky, for a sign or a movement.

It was the shadow that showed him that the monster was there, amongst the clouds. Its shadow covered the bodies of his small group as it flew through the night, going beyond the woods that protected them from the cold wind of the peninsula.

Robb got up, worried, afraid of the beast getting too close. He could hear better its sound now, as it reached the other side, preparing for something malicious and wicked for sure. He watched Sansa sleeping, peacefully, and feared for her safety.

He couldn’t ignore the Dragon coming by their side, the huge size of it showing in the starry night. If he forgot about what he saw, he could place the life of everyone in danger that night.

No. He had to face it and destroy it.

Stannis could ignore his royal duties, but Robb was not a man to ran away with fear.

He took his sword from his sheath and walked towards the woods, slowly, afraid of breaking a branch and terrifying the monster before he could slaughter it. Foot by foot, he walked amongst the trees, hearing the terrible sounds that the beast made, being guided by them.

He tried to remain calm, as he would snap a leaf with his boot in the dead of the night and the dragon would remain very quiet, listening to Robb as well, waiting for him to take a false step once again. But this would not happen, as the King would wait calmly, as the noises started again and he could continue to walk towards the monster.

And there it was, the black beast, huge as Balerion would have been one day. Many would say that his shadow would lay over entire cities as the great dragon would fly by and that’s how Robb felt, watching the great monster munch something very roasted, his great body over what appeared to have been a cow one day.

He raised his sword slowly, preparing for the first blow and praying, quietly, for the Dragon not to see him coming, when he saw her, seating by the cliff, silver hair shining in the moonlight.

Daenerys Targaryen.

She had indeed come, as many were suspecting would happen one day or another. He had heard everywhere in King’s Landing about the young Queen, who had freed slave cities and gained armies. He heard rumors about her dragons as well, but most of the accounts said they were the size of lizards, as nice and big dragons were extinct many centuries ago.

That certainly wasn’t the case for that magnificent creature by the Queen’s side. Daenerys, however, looked tiny and fragile by its side, looking more like a fairy from other reality than the intrepid leader many claimed her to be.

Robb would expect to see her mending clothes and kissing her children good night, not flying over a battlefield, throwing fire and blood at the troops.

As if she could sense his presence, she raised her eyes and met his. She didn’t say anything, as their eyes were fixed in each other, analyzing their movements. She watched his sword with a raised eyebrow and he noticed it was still in his hand, ready to attack the Queen’s dragon.

“I will not hurt you.” He said, finally, putting his sword on the ground.

She giggled like a girl and said:

“And I will promise you that my dragon will not hurt you.”

He glanced at the enormous beast in front of him and giggled as well, being reprimanded by the severe eyes of the creature. He snorted, and Robb felt the warm breath hitting him in the face, as the smoke went up the night air.

She walked towards him, violet eyes shining in the night, the moon hitting in her silvery hair and she felt as beautiful and mesmerizing as his own wife, with her maroon eyes and white skin. How could two women be so beautiful?

“Your Grace.” He bowed to the Queen, when she was some feet away from him. A smile came to her lips, as she bowed her head in acknowledgment.

“I’m afraid I do not know you, ser.” She said. “See, it’s not been very long since we arrived in these lands.”

Her speech made him wary. She was not by herself, apparently.

“We, Your Grace?”

Her smile was still fixed on her lips as she continued:

“Me and my husband. I hope the dragons are not an inconvenience, ser. We will be here just for a short while, before marching towards the Red Keep.” She paused, watching the horror in Robb’s eyes grow. “Surely you will have nothing to fear, good ser. I’m the Queen of these lands. All will be well.”

— —

What a strange man he was, Daenery thought, as she walked among the castle walls later that day, while the sun was rising over the sea.

He was dirty and battered, eyes tired and wary. However, he talked as a gentleman and under the clay, his clothes were from fine silk and thread. She couldn’t see the sigil usually embroidered in such fine clothing, denoting the house of the knight. However, due to the coloring, she supposed it was a man from the high lands of the North.

That thought made her look to the missive in her hands. She had received very early that same morning, while finishing her hunting trip with the dragons. Ser Barristan was anxiously waiting for her return, with the letter in his hands and worried eyes.

She had read it, several times, as her eyes got accustomed to the beautiful and round handwriting of the other Queen, The Queen in the North, Haelena Stark. She asked the permission of exploring the dragon glass caverns in Dragonstone to Lord Stannis, in exchange of support and armies to an upcoming battle with the Young King of Westeros.

Haelena Stark… What an odd name. Haelena was a valyrian name, brought to this land by the Targaryens, so many moons ago. Could she be a descendent? A Blacfyre of some sorts?

No, they were all dead now. Targaryens, Blackfyres, Velaryons…

She must be the daughter of a big-eyed woman, who loved the stories about Targaryen princes and princesses, who vouched, someday, to be taken to a faraway castle in a white horse, to be married to a kind and gentle man.

Poor woman.

Daenerys stared at the sigil of the House Stark for a minute, the white direwolf screaming towards the unknown, asking for something, begging practically, to a man that had nothing more to give or to take, just a gelid island and a heartbroken daughter.

She continued her walk, going up the stairs, until her hands opened slowly the door she was searching for and she stood there for a moment, watching. Just. Watching.

Young Shireen was still sleeping, the grey canvas of her skin being enlightened by the sun coming up the bay. She looked peaceful and happy, well fed and strong as a bull. Her beautiful dark hair was over the pillows, covering her square jaw and large ears. That way she almost seemed… Beautiful, in her own way.

Since the moment that young girl entered her life, by chance and mistake, Daenerys felt love. The love she had lost so many moons ago, when she woke up with Drogo sleeping by her side, without moving or talking, her belly empty, with no baby.

She used to say that her dragons were her children. The slaves in the bay called her mother. But the love she had found for that bright, smart girl, was almost suffocating. The same could not be said about how Aegon saw her. For him, she was only one more mouth to feed, because his wife felt pity towards the girl. He was only a young man, after all. Who never felt pain or sadness. Who never understood love. Or fear.

“Worried, Your Grace?” A voice came from behind, startling her.

Lord Davos was always keeping an eye in Shireen and Daenerys could have waited for that moment: he was always within arms reach, ready to take care of the girl. Shireen loved the bearded man, who had lost his children in the Blackwater Bay Battle and learned with the young princess how to read and write. He owned his happiness to the girl and was very happy to provide her with everything her heart desired.

“No, Lord Davos. Just… thinking.”

He said nothing, just shook his head and kept watching the girl in her sleep. His silence invited Daenerys to say something, as a warm embrace. She watched the man in silence, pondering if she could say anything at all, until she babbled:

“Do you believe, milord, in coincidences?”

“You mean fate, Your Grace?” He asked, walking slowly to the chamber and pulling the curtains so that the rising sun would not take the girl from her slumber.

“No, milord. I mean merely coincidences.” She insisted, watching the man sit by a chair next to the sleeping girl and cross his arms.

“There are no coincidences, milady.” He continued. “Only fate. Now, I ask you: Why you think you have found fate?”

She was intrigued by the letter, but it seemed silly to continue speaking like that. It was only a simple missive, that had not found the owner. By chance, if some weeks earlier, Haelena Stark could have received a very different answer.

But now Stannis was dead and she was there.

“Oh, nothing, Lord Davos. Just a feeling…”

“You must pay attention to the feeling, Your Grace.” He said, in his low baritone voice. “If not for the feelings, wars would have never been won.”

That made her sharp her eyes towards him.

“Now, I see I caught your attention.” He said, a smile in the corner of his mouth. “I suspect I said something that reminded you of something… Maybe a coincidence?”

She smiled as well, seeing the wickedness in the way the old man eyes shone.

“Yes, milord. A coincidence.”


	33. Of visits and titles

He was by the other side of the table, talking in hushed tones to the soldiers. Since the announcement of Robb’s death, the men started to come towards Jon for help, as the old lord was closed in his sorrow and the young widow had a newborn in her arms, most of the time.

She felt a bit hurt by this behavior, feeling that the man respected her less for being a young mother and a woman, nonetheless, preferring to go to a man that was not their King or Lord, even though that same man was a reputed knight and commander.

She turned her head a bit, to see the empty spots left on both her right and left. She missed Robb’s gentle voice and nice manner at the table, even when they were so mad at each other that neither of them spoke a word. It was the little things she got used to, that she missed and made her melancholic, even thought if she looked closely, she would have noticed how incredibly broken she was in that moment of her life.

Lord Eddard only ate at his own chambers now, refusing to speak to her in any way. Sometimes, he would go by the nursery and play with his grandchild… No, not really his. Even that Haelena was unable to ensure the good old man. He had to take in his arms his great niece, watching those grey eyes and wishing that he could see bright, blue, Tully one’s.

The commotion outside interrupted her chain of thought, making her raise her head to the sky. She could see the wood beams on the ceiling tremble, dust falling from the cracks, as she heard the soldiers screaming to each other outside. She raised with the others, running to the window, looking for the reason of this madness, but everything she could see was white snow, covering every inch of the courtyard.

She was in movement again, feeling a hand grab her arm from behind, making her stop in her tracks.

“You stay right here. Don’t think about going outside.” Jon said, grey eyes over her.

“It is too early, Jon. You know that! The winter has barely been there for more than a moon now!” She whispered, as the man pushed open the great doors and the freezing wind came gushing inside.

“I know.” He paused, looking at the snow twirling inside the room. “Go get Serena and Lord Eddard. I need you to go to the catacombs as fast as you can. By the end of it, there’s a door, with a corridor, that leads to behind the castle walls. I need you to go there and run as fast as you can, straight line. Don’t look back, don’t come back. If you don’t stop, you will reach the river. Follow it to White Harbor and leave the land.”

“What?” She asked, pulling in back to her, searching his eyes. “I will not leave you!”

“Haelena…” He tried to say, being interrupted.

“No! You listen to me. I’m tired of that. I’m tired of following people’s wishes and requests. I will not go. I will fight with you and I will certainly not leave you.” She paused, out of breath.

Jon was watching her mesmerized, his mouth opened in shock, livid with despair. However, his eyes were gentle and warm pools of silver, ready to take her in once again.

“You damned fool…” He whispered with his brows furrowed. “See that our child is safe, then. I will meet you by the gate.”

Our child, he said. That made Haelena’s heart double in size, almost bursting from its confinement in her rib cage. Oh, how she wished she could hear that every day, that he could announce that for the world to hear as well.

“Your Grace!” A man shouted from the outburst, making heads turn in his direction. “It’s a dragon!”

That made her jump forward, followed by Jon, still grabbing her arm tightly to his, towards the courtyard covered in snow. The low temperature hit her in the face, remembering her of the fact that she hated the cold deeply and wished she could have been the bride of good Prince Oberyn, in the fair and warm plains of Dorne. But here she was, after all.

The dragon was a black, heavy mass of meat and bones, towering in her courtyard, as gobsmacked soldiers watched the creature move its enormous head from one side to the other, his claws thundering the soil and his tail waving anxiously.

She tried to approach the creature, feeling Jon’s grip in her arm get tighter, noticing what she intended to do. She looked to him and shook her head, asking with her eyes for him to believe in her, trust her. He let her go slowly and watched as she calmly walked towards the monster, the soldiers trying to get in front of their Queen in vain.

They stared at each other, the great black beast and the tiny and bright rosy woman, eyes fixed in one another and no movement at all. Until Haelena raised one hand, slowly, placing it carefully over the warm snout, warm skin against warm skin, red eyes against red eyes.

“I certainly was not expecting that.” A voice came from her side, making Haelena break her connection with the powerful dragon and search for the owner of that clear voice.

A girl, young and very blond, with a pair of excited violet eyes, watched her, dressed in her best white furs. She was taller than Haelena and slender, with small breasts and small hips under the very pale and bright skin. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were shining.

“I beg your pardon?” Haelena asked, as she watched those violet eyes that reminded her of home.

“Only a true dragon lord can touch a dragon, milady. So, I must question you, how the Queen in the North, Haelena Stark, learned to bound with dragons.” The woman continued, making a smile appear in the corner of Haelena’s mouth.

“And I must ask you, Daenerys Targaryen, how you find yourself so far away from home.” The Northerner Queen teased.

Daenerys opened a smile.

“I am home.”

— —

“May I present you Queen Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, The Rhoynar and the First Men, The rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, Queen of Dragonstone, Queen of Meereen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, Breaker of Chains and mother of Dragons, regent of the realm.” Announced the brown skinned girl, who looked worried by the side of the Queen, looking no more than ten years old, burrowed on those furs.

For such a long title, she was a very tiny lady, Jon thought as he watched the woman standing in front of them in the Great Hall.

A silence took over the chamber, as they waited for the presentation of the Queen in the North, but not a word was said. The young soldier that was supposed to read Haelena’s title was still gobsmacked by the presence of the huge dark dragon outside and the Targaryen lady in front of him. A fragile voice came from a corner, then:

“And may I present you Queen Haelena of the House Stark, the First of Her Name, Queen of the First Men, Queen of the Winter, Queen in the North and Protector of the Realm, the White Wolf and the Red Dragon, regent of the realm.”

“Thank you, Maester Aemon.” Haelena said, smiling to the man sitting by the corner.

That made the fair, blond Queen raise one eyebrow.

“I’m afraid that I feel a bit lost, milady.” Daenerys said. “I came here due to curiosity and what my advisor called as fate. However, I keep hearing and seeing things that are beyond my comprehension. You are named Haelena, a usual name in my family line, however you are married to a Stark in the deep North…”

“Was married, Your Grace.” Jon heard her say, lips crisped. “My husband died, not so many days ago.”

“My sentiments, milady. I understand your pain, as my husband is dead as well.” The Queen said, lowering her eyes.

“I accept your sentiments, Your Grace, but I fear that you could not understand the pain.” Haelena said, fingers tapping in the throne. “You question my name, as it is a common name for your family, a family whose last members, I fear, are all in this room. However, sometimes, life has a way of taking and giving you things unexpectedly.”

That speech made the room very quiet.

“I’m afraid my grandmother was a relative of yours.” She continued, the fingers always taping on the wood.

“A relative, milady?” Daenerys asked in doubt. “What was her name?”

“Visenya Targaryen.”

The young girl had her eyes wide open, her lips trembling with many words and questions. He had seen this disbelief many times before, as the people in the castle learned about Haelena’s family. Many were skeptical or afraid of her. After all, this meant that her family had magic in their blood and magic… Well, magic could lead to amazing things. And terrible ones.

“How could she be your grandmother? Visenya Targaryen is dead for more than 300 years.” The young Queen asked, eyes searching around the room.

“The fires of Valyria can take life and give life, Daenerys Targaryen. And I assure you, that Lady Visenya is very much alive,” Haelena said with a smile in the corner of her mouth, as she watched the young girl grow in disbelief and shift for amazement. “We are family. That’s why your dragon liked me. That’s the reason of my name and my eyes. You’re not alone in the world, dear girl, as Maester Aemon can prove to you.”

The Queen looked at the old and fragile man sitting by the side of the Northerner Queen and her eyes shone with hope and happiness. Jon felt how lost she could have been, during those years, thinking she was the last one of a dynasty. He, in some way, thought the same way, being raised alone, as the bastard boy of a noble family, no one to claim him beside his own father.

And now, watching the girl that really was his aunt, rejoice with the prospect she had a family living and breathing, made his heart rejoice as well. He wished he could tell her the truth, announce to her that he also was her family, her nephew and, he hoped, her friend.

He wished he could show her Serena, place in her great-aunt’s arms and show to the world how the Targaryen’s weren’t really gone.

“But you did not come to meet long lost relatives.” Haelena continued. “Why are you here, so far North, Daenerys?”

“I’ve received your letter.” She said, watching the confusion appear in Haelena’s eyes. “The one you wrote to Stannis Baratheon. I’m afraid he… he is not in position to attend to your needs.”

The silence took the room once more, as the Queen in the North understood the Targaryen’s words.

“And you came without your army and advisors, only with a scared girl and a dragon, to which intent, I may ask.” The woman continued, cold eyes over the visitor. Jon knew Haelena enough to know how her mind was working right now, searching for danger, for mistakes and fears. He was ready to take action, as well. His few men were ready, with Tormund protecting the baby girl by the nursery.

“I was intrigued. By you, your name, the circumstances and the content of the letter. God knows why you need dragonglass, so much that you practically begged for the beggar king himself. I had to know and my… advisors… would be on my way.” She paused, looking annoyed. “Sometimes, they can be very rushed and unable to listen.”

Haelena smiled, her eyes softening and her fingers stopping the constant tapping.

“Do you want to listen to me, Your Grace?”

— —

Sansa watched Robb describing what he saw for what appeared to be the 11th time. However, she didn’t mind: it seemed like a weird dream, an ancient song or tale being sung in her ears, the tale of the Wolf King and the Dragon Queen.

They missed the wolves, locked in Winterfell, as they feared the trip and the smallfolk would not understand the beauty of the animals. Great and proud wolves that came from Old Nan’s tales, like the Dragon black as night Robb saw close to him.

That he felt in his skin, warm like Haelena’s hands. Or so he told.

“Do you believe the girl with the dragon was Daenerys Targaryen?” She asked Sansa, wide eyes searching for his.

“I do. We can’t go to Dragonstone. Not now. She is there, with dragons and possibly an army.” He continued, looking at her.

Tyrion was deep asleep at the other side of the camping, his snores being followed by Podrick’s in rhythm and tone. Only the siblings were awake, sharing their secrets and their doubts in the chilling westerosi night.

“We don’t have many options, Robb. We could go to Storm’s End, but surely it is empty. We have no use for a fortress without people to defend it or to attack another, as we intend. We could walk towards The Reach…” She paused, contemplating the idea.

“They wouldn’t change their alliances, Sansa. Not now.” Said Robb, passing his hands through his hair.

“We don’t know. Queen Cersei just exploded an entire sept, filled to the brim with her subjects and our men. Maybe, with the right incentive…” She tried, but was interrupted by her brother.

“No. We can’t risk it, Sansa. If we are mistaken… They could sell us to her.”

They stared at the night sky for a long time, before Sansa asked:

“And Dorne?”

Her brother took his gaze from the stars and looked straight at the figure, with mated copper hair and dirty cheeks.

“Dorne?”

“Yes. Well. They retain mostly their independency from King’s Landing. They are powerful and they accepted me as a daughter of Dorne may moons ago. Certainly, if I told Prince Doran about what happened on the day of my marriage, he would take our side. Specially Prince Oberyn. You know how he hates the Lannisters…” She stopped, watching Robb shook his head in denial.

“They hate the Lannisters because they killed his sister, married to Prince Rhaegar, Sansa. They could very well support the Dragon Queen in her quest for the Iron Throne. And if she suspects that we are an obstacle to her plans, as we are an independent kingdom… We could lose our heads.” He pointed out.

“Don’t be so dramatic.” Said Sansa, feeling the sea in her dirty face. “It’s the only present option.”

“We could go to The Vale.” The King insisted.

“Too far away. To do that, we would have to pass through the Crownlands or, at least, close to Dragonstone, that you dismissed as being a suicidal attempt.” Sansa felt tired of discussing with her own brother.

“We just don’t have any guarantees that Daenerys Targaryen would treat us well in her castle.”

“She could have burned you alive, Robb. But she didn’t.”

Robb got up, hands fisted in his hips.

“She thought I was a knight, Sansa. If she knew my rank… My position as king…”

The silence took over them, as the winds continued to blow from the icy shores. Winter had indeed came, whistling and taking their frail bodies, shivering them under their light capes and coats. If it was that cold in the Crownlands, imagine how it was in the North, with the snowstorms approaching and the icy winds blowing through the halls.

“Do you think she will be safe?” Sansa asked, taking his mind from Winterfell just for a brief moment, before he realized she was thinking about the same thing.

“She is very strong, Sansa. I believe she will manage well, before we came back to her.”

“No, you don’t understand. Daenerys said she would take the Red Keep. Even if she could take it just with her armies and her dragon, she needs the support from the other lords and ladies. And the other kings and queens… She would need Haelena’s support, while you’re away.” Sansa said, getting up and walking towards her brother.

He turned to his sister, watching her blue eyes filled with worries.

“She would do anything to keep the North safe.” He said, feeling the uncertainty creep in his heart.

“This don’t mean that what she needs to do to make the North safe is the same thing she needs to do to keep her safe, Robb.” She paused. “She needs someone… Someone to protect her.”

“She has father.” He said, as a matter of fact.

This made Sansa scoff and turn her eyes.

“Oh Robb… Father is above everything. He is loyal and just… He would do everything to protect his subjects, this is true, but within his moral principles.” She paused for a moment, looking him deeply in the eye. “No. She needs someone that would move heaven and earth to keep her safe. Someone like…”

She stopped suddenly, eyes alarmed in realization.

“Someone like who, Sansa?” Robb insisted, making the girl look pale and fragile in the dawn. She gulped, nervously, eyes wide and fearful, as her words reached his ears.

“Someone like… Jon.”


End file.
